The amount of detail in the training was daunting. It was an arduous process and often Iolas was up from dawn ‘til dark, crouched over the books of history. More than once did he find himself dozing. The news had come as much as a shock to him as it had to any others and yet if this was his duty, if this was what he was permitted to live for, then he would bend a knee to it. Recitations of kings, of important generals. Of battles. A more strict schoolmarm would have seen to rapping his knuckles til they split open for it was not his forte, rote memorization, so much as it was tactics and decisionmaking. But one must have the grounds established before one can begin to build upon them, Zanil had told him time and time (and time and time) again to his disdain. He was so weary of it, irritated, grunts and growls and yet there was a dedication within him. Something in this he had found gave him life.
For the first month or so, it was unsettling to see Iolas about the palace. There were many suspicious eyes upon him, ones that did not trust him. There were even frowns and whispers about questioning the choices of the advisor in taking him as a pupil and yet none were so audacious as to speak openly before himself or the king of these decisions. After all, they had been made with the blessing of the king and to undermine the king in a time of peace could very well be labeled as treason. Iolas watched from a high balcony, draped all in robes that were akin to those worn by Zanil during his time as advisor, as the wolves arrived and departed. They did not linger until spring as those of Vaira planned to, instead departing with a rapid turnaround. There were, after all, other wolves that waited for them within Vitnir hall--so Zanil had told him upon his first conversation with one of the residents of the fighter’s guild. His remark that they had the lingering odor of wet dog given the snow had not tided well for an initial friendship, but it was discarded easily enough. Residents of Vitnir Hall had, by and lard, heard it all before--it was notoriously difficult to offend or upset them, save for insulting their honor or one of their own. An offhanded dog joke? It scarcely even resulted in a raised eyebrow or a second glance. They were used to that even among their own kin.
“And where is their hall?” as Zanil joined him upon the balcony overwatching as their numbers departed from the castle. Undoubtedly, it would be considerably more quiet as they were now void of the rambunctious wolves.
With his own hands tucked into his sleeves to help alleviate the chill, there was a momentary pause as though he, himself, had to think of it. “Far southeast of the castle,” mused the man, “and well away from any cities, for their own safety and the safety of the people of the town. While all their fighters are notoriously kind, one cannot always be sure of what attention may be drawn to them, or the potential of things going wrong. A day’s ride from the border of Ludan, give or take, by my recollection. I have spent little time there for the kings rarely ride in that direction.”
“And they are under govern as well as any other citizen of Baiden?”
“You are more than capable of answering your own question.”
The more he had learned, the more he had learned to hate that particular phrase. It made his scarred face turn into an expression of distaste as he exhaled a sigh. “They are citizens under the Baidenese banner and so they are by law citizens of Baiden and must adhere to all rules applicable to their citizenship.”
“Very good.” Dark eyes rolled a bit as he was praised in a manner not unlike one would reward a child who answered a question correctly after a lecture. He righted himself from where he leaned on the snowy fence that kept him from tumbling off the balcony. His eyes were upon Zanil for the moment before he heaved a sigh. “I suppose you came to retrieve me to inform me that it is best that I return to my studies?”
“No.” This caused the scarred face’s expression to drop as his hands fell idle to his sides. “It is far beyond time for you to have a day of rest. You may read if you see fit, but it is a day off. Besides, you have seen little of Baiden outside of the castle and now it has been long enough and it is known well enough that you are under royal protection and decree that none will harm you. Do as you will for the day. We resume your studies tomorrow.”
Those assumptions and statements were true: very little of Iolas’s time had been spent outside the confines of the castle walls. Until it was the decision of Zanil, he had foreseen that all he would know of Baiden was indeed the cell that he was in. The idea had put him off, initially, and for very valid reason: much of his time was spent repenting. It was spent preparing for death. And when this death did not come, it was a shock to him. He attempted to rebel against it, but was at the mercy of the advisor. And, blessedly, even the guised god of death was fantastically merciful, if only because in the long run it would come to his benefit. So he had begun to learn.
“Do as I will?” His dark brows knit at the comment when Zanil spoke again.
“If it so happens that you will to stay inside and read further, I will not stop you. I merely suggested stepping out to see the city.”
“I miss the blade.”
The fur-trimmed cloak was drawn tighter around her frame which seemed to be growing greater as the weeks ticked on. There was a glow about her now, the one that was always describe of a woman with child. Silvya had returned to her and Brayden’s home, though they were still in frequent communications--the northern woman was growing even larger and there was a high suspicion of twins. It would not be surprising at all, as Brayden and Brenner had been the son of Clarent, a man who was one half of a set of twins. It ran in the family.
Beneath her boots crunched the snow of the morning, the sun shining off it and blinding those that were unfamiliar with how to cut their eyes from it. The hood draped over her curls of ebony helped curb at least a portion of the impact of the glare.
She lingered, at the moment, in the training area. The horses were away for the time being and it was occupied by Arric and Mercurius, for their training sessions had been frequent and intense as of late. This was what prompted the statement as a training dummy was firmly struck with one of the training blades. Not sharp, no, but more for learning the need of force and how to handle the recoil.
“I would hope that you would not lose all of your prowess by the time our child is born, Abigail,” stated Mercurius. He was on one side of the fence and she the other as he paced over the accumulation of snow towards her. Much of his time was spent with Arric, yes, but he did not squander time with his wife. Every morning, they ate together, and again at evenings. They spoke of politics, of councils, of Iolas’s training. In no way were they separate from one another more than they should have been which, to some, was in fact a surprise. The king had been at least somewhat reluctant to wed her, but they had been able to form at least some sort of a relationship. And a positive one, at that.
“I would happily be in your place if you would be in mine, Mercurius. I growy weary of the aches and weights of carrying a child.”
The training blade was lowered and the lent helm removed from the blonde hair as the Vairan king crossed the snow to where the Baidenese royalty lingered. Towards him did the face of the king turn with a small look of amusement.
“I do not envy that which is seen solely as a woman’s duty, Abigail. In that way women are far greater than men.”
“And in some other ways. Mind your tongue.” But she smiled at him, teasing. Any hint of jealousy that had lingered between them was negated by the return of Mercurius; no rivalry, no struggle for the attention of the king. Mercurius himself was wise enough to spend much time working to this point where the three of them could be comfortable.
But always in the back of his mind was the lingering spring. The point at which the world would be green again and yet there would be changes to be had. He did not favor the winter. None in Baiden truly did, for it made living harsh, harder than it needed to be. But this was likely the only time in his life that he would wish that winter would never end. Truthfully, travel to Vaira was not blockaded. There were no roads known to be closed off by snow and yet this was the way to make it easiest. To give some illusion of elongated time.
“Do you intend to seek a wife in Vaira, Arric?” While she was versed in courtly rumors, indeed, she was not quite knowledgeable about those that swirled around Arric alone and not those that wove together the Vairan king and her own husband. The training blade was forsaken and yet there was a moment exchanged between them, one set of brows creased as the others arched up in curiosity. “Surely you intend an heir.”
“The assignment of an heir is indeed part of a king’s duty, but as far as the production thereto… I confess, Abigail, that few women have ever held my interest beyond intellect. It is not unheard of in Vaira, nor is it a frowned upon. For a king to live openly as such, however… that has not happened. But is there not a point to progress? I cannot speak of the importance of moving forward to Mercurius and not ask it of my own people.”
“So you have intentions to adopt, then?”
“And here we are, having done it the hard way. Though in fairness, it is more strain upon your body than mine, Abi--”
He had not even finished his statement when he was stricken by a blow to the face in the form of a snowball. Slightly did he recoil from it, more surprised and suddenly chilled than anything else before he stooped and gathered up his own projectile. Arric was safe only for a brief interim before the queen if Baiden herself saw fit to drag him into the dispute by throwing a snowball in his direction.
From the Grey Wing, Zanil watched, his head craned slightly with his hood lifted about his argentine hair. And he smiled. There was a youth there, a light in his king that he had not seen in many years. But he had not eternity to look upon them--at least, not in this form. His attention was gathered as there was a whistle from behind him, the sound of Thrandir calling his attention. While the wolves had some time ago departed to their hall, such was not the case for Thrandir. They had opted to remain, lingering in the shadows and in places few people thought to look. After all, progress did not happen in the manner of days. Very visibly did Thrandir carry the blood of elves within them, for the point of ears was visible through short cropped hair--and for them, it was indeed a matter of pride. Such still merited sideways glances from the household of the king. As for those that existed without, those that existed in the city of Baiden and the country around, well. Thrandir was wise enough to know not to go about unescorted where he was not wanted.
“I do miss my sister,” mused the visage of the dark-skinned elf, his hands cupping his own elbows as his weight shifted, foot-to-foot. “Perhaps I will go to the plains again. After all, it seems that we have little to no intention of traveling to find Lisrael any time soon.”
“I hope you were not under the misguided impression that at any point I was merely going to pack up and leave overnight, Thrandir.”
“I could hope.”
A shake of Zanil’s head was the response to that statement as he walked forward a few paces, distance now resting between himself and the oracle of Lisrael. His gaze was downcast as there was a weight on his shoulders. It was ending. Frankly, the fact that it was finally drawing to a close should have, could have offered at least some miniscule inkling of relief. There was a finality to it and for things to be ending, he had predicted there would be a relief. Some ability to exhale and allow the breath to carry with it the weight of hundreds of years, the heavy responsibility of being advisor.
By no means was this to be an implication that he did not trust Iolas. Had he not felt that the half-elf was the most fit for the job, he would not have drawn Mercurius aside and demanded to have it so. He had been surprisingly receptive to the idea, even if the truth finally had to be revealed to him. What the king did with that knowledge after his departure was truly his own call; It would have no bearing. He would be long gone.
“I have done far too much for this country to simply flee it as though I were a criminal.”
“Less a criminal. More a man with a higher calling.”
“I have always had a higher calling and motives greater than simply being an advisor. That does not mean I have ever forsaken it.”
“You were Tiados first, you know. Zanil was a farce that came after,” as they spoke with that lazy tone. It seemed Lisrael’s element, that part of her that resided within the soul of this plains elf, was likely wiser even than Zanil had been: no ties. Nothing too heavy to weight him down. “But if you must tie up loose edges, I suppose it is only right for me to as well. I had hoped that you would come with me, that you would tie yours up as well… but if we have waited this long, what is a bit longer?”
Initially, the advisor had dismissed himself. He strode a few paces away, the soft soles of his boots upon the floor. Then he paused, turning to look upon Thrandir again, to find that he was gone. Alone did he find himself, the still echoing sounds of those in the courtyard beneath, the laughter of the Rosenlied king and his wife and the ruler of Vaira. These were sounds that he would not hear ever again, once he departed north. He could not see himself returning within the king’s lifetime, when he left to find Lisrael. And the idea of a Rosenlied passing to be with the gods without him being there caused a foreign ache in his chest. He would not be there.
But there was only so long that he could put such things off.
She deserved peace as much as anyone else.
By and large, the majority of the Vairans were able to take the snow with minimal complaint. There were, however, more than merely the Vairan healers and the Baidenese natives within the confines of Baiden. Silvya was one of these in that this sort of snow, in the north, was a near year round occurrence.
“Only snow,” she had informed the complaining Tahvaen when he and Brenner had arrived one evening; life was beginning to become normal again. The brothers dining with one another was a rather common occurrence and despite the war leaving them both off kilter, the sense of normalcy ebbed to them all. Brayden was still reluctant to speak much of the war and such was respected. “Almost all year round in the north, there is snow. But here? Not as bad. Not as icy.”
“I don’t care one way or the other ‘bout the snow,” spoke the Vairan half-elf as he drew nearer to him the wool jacket that he had been given by Brenner. “It’s the cold that I’m tired of.”
“Well you are here until spring,” as a heaping helping of rabbit stew was placed before the red-haired elf, “so I would get used to it.”
So winter went as winter would, with snow and the occasional storm of ice that made travel more difficult that it needed to be. Spring began to come in small ways: flowers pushing through snow and days that were longer, warmer. Icicles dripped and faded away from their points upon the edges of statues, homes, and shops. Green was beginning to appear on the trees as the last lingering patches of frozen-over snow clung in areas the sun hardly hit, and the homesickness had settled into the Vairans. Even the king.
“We should begin preparations to return to Vaira soon,” mused the fairer king as he stood at one of the windows alongside Mercurius. The town was awake, alive again after a winter’s sleep. There was some green to be seen among the city streets, the new growth of spring. And one could really only delay that which was the inevitable for so long. “Thankfully, there will be less urgency in the return than the initial trip. There is no war upon our shoulders.”
But Mercurius was quiet. He lingered next to the more petite visage of the younger king until it seemed his plans to travel had been vocalized. But he noted the pause, and turned to Mercurius, and the king looked down upon him. It was an act of impulse as he shifted forth to tip-toe, and his lips were against Mercurius’s. Just for a moment as the Baidenese king felt the hands linger on his chest as the closeness persisted for a short span of time.
And when Arric smiled, Mercurius smiled. “Everything is as it should be, Mercurius.”
“Yes--all is how it should be. And we will do what we must to keep it so.”
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When the news reached the camps, carried by messengers bearing Baidenese flags, there was rejoicing to be had. Celebration, embraces. Naturally, the captains took the celebration with a slight grain of salt, brows knitting as they were forced to ponder the fineries of wrapping up camp and returning to home. But creased brows and unsure faces could be saved for when it was time to deal with the issue. For now, there were songs and celebrations. For now, people were able to breath and rejoice. Even as the departure of the Baidenese from the north had transpired, there was a lightness of heart that was foreign to them. Naturally, Zanil had seen to the penning of the treaty, proper, and overseen the signing of it. Drunel, serving as interim advisor, had acted similarly, for it was the signatures of the kings and their advisors that were mandated by the wording of the script in elegant hand. Even though their return to Baiden should have been the finale of the chaos of war, there were still many manners to attend to. After all, someone had the duty of escorting the elven prisoners to the Circle of the Gods for the exchange of them and the wolves of Vitnir Hall. There was also the fact that Iolas would not be part of that exchange and the fate of the elven bastard lay wholly in the hands of Mercurius and those in his pledge.
It was only after a few days had passed and the agreement as to who would be escorting the elven captives to the Circle of the Gods for the exchange had been made that Zanil approached Mercurius where he lingered in the courtyard. Snow still fell and likely more than Arric or the Vairan healers had seen (save, perhaps, those that had grown up in other countries before studying the arts in Vaira). Tahvaen was seated on a paddock’s gate while Brenner circled the warhorse around it in long strides, kicking up snow like sand. It was a light snow, not a frozen snow; it was too cold for the snow to melt and become ice. It made little impediment upon travel and so it was enjoyed if only for the aesthetic. Nearby was where Mercurius lingered with Arric, the younger king bedecked in maile that had clearly been leant to him and armed with a blade.
“If you are to have a standing army, Arric,” shouted Mercurius from one side of the small training area that they were currently in, “you must learn properly how to handle a blade.”
“Your highness.”
The voice of the advisor rang clear even over the king’s shouts and the sound of hooves upon the ground beneath the layer of snow. Stilled was the horse for the moment save for a snort that resulted in an exhale of mist skyward, the thrown spear landing against the practice dummy with a precise whang. Zanil had been seen only little since the return to Baidenese lands and even less had he sought Mercurius out. It was the afternoon with the sun high in the sky, Elfreda tasked with escorting the elves north with a company of her men. Save for Faeron, the tailor who had spoken with the king. It had been at his own request that he remained and planned to travel to Vaira. That is, once spring dawned. Correspondence with Arrendel had communicated those plans, for travel in the winter would be very hard upon those not used to it. Allow them rest and reprieve at the expense of the country they had aided, those healers who returned from the war. Mercurius had consented to as much, though there was indeed talk of his potential ulterior motives lying in Arric.
Though Zanil was likely the only one aware of it, Abigail watched, seated in a high window with a warm drink cradled in her hands and a smile on her face. She was not to be reigning queen in peace for the first time.
“If I may have a moment?”
Within its sheath did the king’s own blade rest, idle at his hip for the first time with no intention to be drawn since the beginning of the war. Lazy was the hand that was raised to Arric to signal him to for the moment put aside thoughts of training as the king strode towards his advisor. “You’ve my attention, Zanil. What is it?”
“I would request privacy for this matter, Mercurius. If that is not too much to ask.”
Though black brows were drawn tight, there was a nod given to him as the two walked towards the open archway that would lead them indoors. A breezeway was passed through, meticulously devoid of snow, and once the heavy wooden door closed behind them and they were within the hall, the footfalls of the advisor were still. “I would like to know what exactly you plan to do insofar as Iolas is concerned. There is only so long that you can avoid the subject, and we are coming to the end of things. Once the prisoners are exchanged safely, then he will be the only lingering remnant of the war.”
For the moment, the king found himself gazing only at the back of the advisor’s cloak. It was the thick wool that the people of Baiden tended to favor during winter, drawn around him, though the hood was down. “A decision must be made, you know.”
“He will be put to death--”
“Please, lend your attention to me.” Interrupted. Upon the king’s face was an expression that was rather taken aback, but a nod was given. It was permission for him to speak freely as the king’s arms folded over his chest. “I have a suggestion regarding Iolas. And… I’ve news to share with you that I have intention to keep secret.
“Much of my time since the council has been spent upon my own self-reflection. Many, may generations, many years I have spent with the Rosenlied family. I am sure I have been a constant in many lives of Baiden. However…” a pause, a low exhale. Mercurius felt the weight upon his heart for he knew what was to be said before it was even spoken, “I believe it best if I resign myself to my own private pursuits upon the ascension of your heir to the throne, Mercurius. I have recalled who I am and why I am here. I knew it all along, but I quelled it. But now it is time that I choose one to teach the ways, one to carry on when I am gone.
“I chose Iolas as my protege, if you would grant it. I will train him to serve your heir as I would have, I will instill the loyalty in him. It is there. I swear to you, loyalty to a cause is deep within him though now he is without cause to serve--”
“You expect me to grant my consent to this?” Naturally, he had expected the anger. Such was the manner of Mercurius: he grew angry with ease, he expressed it forthwith. His jaw tightened and he shook his head. Oh, the war had aged him. Even in this dim light Zanil gazed upon hair that was tinting to grey in a few strands. His father had greyed rather early, as well. “To even entertain the idea that the man who started this war will serve my heir as advisor? You must have taken an injury to your head if you think…”
“Please.”
Never in his life had he heard the voice of the advisor plea with him. The weight that dragged his heart down served to clench about his heart, to wind tight a spindle-fingered grip around the beating muscle. Slightly the head even canted as his brain almost seemed to struggle to process the notion that, truly, Zanil was pleading with him.
“I cannot remain in Baiden longer, for my heart is elsewhere. Where, I do not know. That is what I go to seek--”
“In all your days that I have known you and likely in many that extend beyond my own knowledge,” began the king, advancing a few steps forward with a frown upon his lips, “you have spoken in riddles and stories. You have brushed inquiries off with wily smiles and fed half-truths yet never lied. But never have I heard of you pleading, Zanil. Nor have I heard the truth of your story. I will listen still to your request if you will grant me the truth of who and what you are--where it is you came from. Those are my demands. Until then, I will not consent to your tutorship of Iolas, nor will I consent to your departure from beneath the heel of the Rosenlied family.”
Sounds from outside barely penetrated the walls for a moment as they both stood, steeping in their own silence. Hands reached up to move argentine hair from the face that now faced the king, the look upon his face resolute. There was something that seemed almost somber, and the king was suddenly reminded of the feeling he got gazing upon statues of gods. A regality and a feeling of being entirely too small. His fingers curled into loose fists to stave off the strange, creeping near-anxiety.
“A fool could tell you I am not human. Nor am I an elf. I am longer lived than many of their lifespans.
“I am from the north. Those stories are not false, those origins. I found myself on the tundra after I cast myself from on high. Many years I spent among the elves in the north. Yes, I knew of the mounting threat when the first whispers of war were heard, when the news came of the Grand War to the north. But I was old by their standards even upon that time. I could not bring myself to come to Baiden, because of who and what I was.
“It was during the Grand War that I came. I was among those that came for war, yes, but I had no intentions of fighting. I became a slave among many others elves, for they operated under the common assumption that that was what I was. This was the way that I found my way into the Rosenlied house. When the slavery was abolished--it lasted perhaps thirty years after the Grand War--there were a number of elves who became servants. I was one of those. From there, my tale of working my way to become advisor is true. I am sure you heard the story.”
Ancient. The word was strange, unsettling. Time stretched back further than the human experience, further than his mind could grasp. And so did the life of Zanil. His nails bit into the flesh of his hands as his head shook: “You have not answered the question: what are you?”
“I will tell you first what I leave to seek. Then I believe you can place who and what I really am. Zanil was not was I was always called, but I am sure you will realize that soon enough.
“For you to understand what I am, I will tell you who and what Thrandir is. Rather, a knowledge of what they are will greater benefit to understanding what I am. I know well that you know the tales of the two lost gods--of Lisrael and of Tiados. Those that disappeared from the pantheon after their work was presumably completed. This? This was not the case, I am afraid. They did not indeed pass from existence after they work was done so much as they quarreled.”
The king’s brows were tight again as he listened to the words before he raised a hand, interjecting: “I do hope there is some sort of a point to this story, Zanil.”
“Do I ever prattle on aimlessly?” inquired the voice of the male. This action served well to silence the speech of the king as the advisor continued talking. “Tiados and Lisrael quarreled for months upon end and such is where winter came from. For in winter, things sleep. They neither live nor die. Spring marks the point upon which Lisrael departed from the quarrel and the world flourished into life under her appearance. Or, so the old tales go. In truth, seasons existed long before, the work of Sheala and Rzael. That I know to be true, but I am not one to deny the tales that humans believe.
“Lisrael disappeared and Tiados, in his grief, disappeared after her. Even the pantheon as they rule know now the location of Lisrael. But Tiados has remained in communication with them, albeing slightly infrequent. They see through his eyes as he walks among the people, the humans that they created. At least, they see through his eyes when he allows them. But they worry him, when they speak; they speak that he is becoming too human, that he has learned to love humanity in a way that is different from the manner that gods do. And for some time he turned from them, and had little to do with them. He closed the pathways through which they could see through him, and loved humans in the way that he deemed most fit.
“But then Thrandir came. Thrandir holds within themselves a fragment if Lisrael, a bit of her soul given to an ailing child. This bit of her soul moves, hope, body to body--soul to soul. It is not a part of any one person but Lisrael and yet it feels hollow. Incomplete. It seeks reunion with Lisrael for in death, that never will be found. In death, it finds only a new host. A child, usually, upon the brink of death at birth. This allows the soul to live on an search, eternally, for reunion with Lisrael.
“I found this within Thrandir. And I felt again my heart’s desire, and the reason that I am here. Mercurius, I am the lost god Tiados. That is who I have always been, though I have dodged the truth for many a year.
“And I beg your leave to seek Lisrael so once again the pantheon can be whole.”
It wasn’t disbelief. The greatest problem that Mercurius did not disbelieve him. He could not dispute this, as facts lined up. Stories lined up. So with an exhale, he stated as much: “My greatest trouble, Zanil, is not that you are leaving. It is the fact that this is all plausible. This all makes sense. I do not doubt you. Not for a moment did I feel that you were lying, or that you were telling tales. Not for a moment.” To his sides did the king’s arms come to rest and from him he let loose a rather heavy exhale. His head even shook from side to side. “To know my life has been spent not only at the feet of a god but also by one’s side is certainly a change.”
Argentine brows rose in response to the statement. There was no shock no--anger, truly, and he had expected at least one of them. Exasperation was a nearer descriptor of the term for how, exactly, the king felt. This caused borderline confusion in Zanil as he looked upon him. “... That’s it? You ask me for no proof, nothing? You take my words that all your days you were besides the very god of death and scarcely bat an eyelash?”
“In Baiden, we have little fear of death. I am sure if worship of Tiados… of… you, was favored anywhere, it would be within my country. It may be a lie. This may all be a story that you have concocted, but I do not see what motivation you would have to lie. Besides…” And there was a slight shine within those eyes, the youth that had almost vanished through the trials of kingship and through the weight of war. A bright shine that honestly, Zanil had missed. “But if there is one thing I know about you that cannot be disputed, it is the fact that you do not lie. You may tell half-truths and spin your own version of reality, but you haven’t lied in all the days I have known you.
“As such,” as the kingly demeanor was upon him again, his fisted hand placed beneath his collarbone in the very image of the Baidenese salute, “under my authority as king herein witnessed by Zanil, my advisor, I decree that the warmonger Iolas, bastard son of Alden Rosenlied and my very own half-brother, will not be executed but instead be taken by Zanil as a pupil. Therein, his fate will be at the hands of Zanil hereto.”
His own eyes shone, bright, and for a moment within them were stars. The lips of the king parted, mouth agape for just a moment as he gazed upon him. It was truly a change from looking into the oft matte pupils (another rather obvious sign that there was something about him far greater than human or elf could beget) for in that instance, that ephemeral moment, Mercurius had the sensation he gazed into something far greater than he had looked upon in his life. A universe, perhaps. A galaxy. A whole world behind the eyes of the man he had taken for granted all of his days. Then he felt the nearness of the man in a way he never had before, a hand upon the back of his short-cropped hair of ebony and lips against his forehead through his black hair. Instinctively his hands rose to grip to the crux of Zanil’s elbow and in that moment, he felt the same sensation of his childhood. The innocence alongside the unsurety. When again Zanil’s eyes were upon his, they were matte and black as they had been every day that he had looked upon them. There was something comforting about the familiarity, and yet… how familiar were they, really? Until this point, there had not even been so much as an inkling of truth between them. He realized that now. Such a major secret…
“I will spend the duration of your and Abigail’s rule to teach Iolas and prepare him to serve as advisor to your children. I will not depart until I see him as fit for the role and, should that not be when their ascention has come, I will remain. But this will be at my discretion and no other’s…”
“Please,” as he shifted, standing now beside the slightly taller figure of the advisor with a hand resting between his shoulderblades. “There is no reason to give full disclaimers of your intent. You will do well. I trust that of you. You… would not leave the Rosenlieds in hands that you felt unfit.”
It was as though the advisor exhaled a breath that he was not even ken to the fact he had been holding. He may well have hold it during the full duration of the time he served the Rosenleids. Speaking the truth had been relieving as he conversed with Thrandir, to be honest of who he is. It had been so long, truly, that he may have forgotten what it was like.
“If there is no further discussion to be had,” spoke the voice of Zanil after a brief interim of silence between them, “then do you not have training to return to?”
Then a smile was on the lips of the king as he nodded. “In that you would be correct, Zanil. Thank you. For everything.”
This was what the elven king had feared. The rigid, unwavering nature of the Baidenese king The fact that he was not willing to concede even slightly from his rigid ideas of what he wanted and what he felt was right. While there was the theory that one could scarcely shame a king for doing what he felt was right, the utter lack of consideration for the elves did not sit well upon the stomach of the Ceredi king. How were they supposed to move forward with peaceful communication if there was only the distinct feeling of animosity lingering there? Though the council was dismissed for the time being, there was the lingering weight and cloud upon his shoulders. It would reconvene and it would return to being the animosity and the tension of something stretched entirely too thin. From his blonde head had the circled been removed and he rested his face against the pale skin of his hands. The sigh was weighted and breathy through his nose and Drunel lingered near him with concern shining in his eyes.
His own nervous fidgeting came in the form of undoing the braid that was drawn over one shoulder and braiding it again, hands weaving the strands together with expert definition as he crossed the room. It had been deemed that while the Baidenese were here that the king was not to be unescorted. Today, that task was upon Drunel as it had been with his father before him. Once content with the rewoven braid, he allowed it to slide over his shoulder and rest down the middle of his back as he crossed the room towards Iowyr.
“Sir?”
“I was right to be afraid. To be wary, I suppose,” spoke the king finally, though the heels of his own hands muffled the tone. “Baiden is not a malleable young sapling. Baiden is a hard-barked oak that breaks only for the strongest winds.”
“But even a hardened oak knows to tilt its leaves ot the sun for the sake of it’s own survival, Iowyr.” Next to the king did he lower himself slowly, a hand placed between the shoulderblades of the man. Slightly did his hands curl into the fabric to offer some sort of physical reassurance, minimal as though it may be. “But that is a slower process than wrapping a new-grown vine along lattice work to allow it to grow. Surely you know this.”
“Can our people really suffer any more patience? This war has claimed many of our numbers, which were few to start with,” spoke the king with the sadness ringing true in his voice: he truly was mostly concerned with his people. Those that served him. They were mostly innocent in all this, save for those that had diverted from their prior ways and opted to follow Iolas. But part of him could not fault them, for they were hopeless, and they were afraid. They were perfectly within their rights to be so for the last hundred years had been a steady decline for the Ceredi. Ionwhyr was too rooted in the way he thought things should be, too rooted and stubborn to communicate and change. Not unlike the Baidenese king and yet Baiden had the sheer numbers to allow it to flourish, despite being as revolutionary as a stone. It was that stony nature that had allowed the country to stand as it did for as long as it had. “I am willing to bend to his whims, but a temporary peace is as good as no peace at all, Drunel. Surely I needn’t tell you that. If King Rosenlied remains resolute in his stubbornness…”
The sigh from elven lips was faint and one of concern as he drew the more lithe form of the king against him. It made sense, after all. Drunel was broader, stronger, trained in the intense work of swordplay and defense. He was absolutely the apex of knights among the elves. Iowyr was more learned in books and studies, in history, and in peacemaking. That is why their roles were as they were, even if the former king would have desired them reversed, at times. “I cannot speak as though I have great faith in the Rosenlied king, your graceful majesty,” as the gaze of the man was upon the flickering flame that was upon the table of the king. “But in his advisor and in the Vairan king, I do have faith. It seems Liev desires peace as well as we do, and the fact that it is a single stubborn king standing in their way… I feel it deeply that he will not emerge victorious, Iowyr. The setup of the council in Liev allows a greater system of checks and balances. I have never been one to speak ill of the humans, and your father, he resented me for that, at least, slightly… but their concepts are not all bad. Liev would not have allowed the genocide that he spoke of. The concept was one that even I will admit was somewhat frightening, but…” and a sigh came from him. “But, easily enough forgotten.”
Still did the king keep his head down, resting in his hands as he gave a small sigh. Blonde spilled around his face to obscure it not unlike a curtain, for it was neither braided nor pulled back in any sort of elaborate style. His father had done as much for council but Iowyr opted out of such things. The fine robes of blue and of silver were enough for him, distinguishing these days from days that were more simple and did not require any sort of decadence. “Easily forgotten, perhaps, for you. But those threatening words haunt me, still. I am afraid I may never be rid of them for all my days.”
“You exaggerate slightly, Iowyr. The memory may linger, but it will not haunt you. You are young yet, by standards of our people. Many more memories--and good ones, too--will see to removing such thoughts from your mind. The peace and trade with Liev will surely make such things more tolerable as we move forward with our lives. You merely need have faith. He will not forsake us now, as He has never forsaken us in the past.” In this way, elves and humans truly were not so disparate, though they may never indeed be aware of it. The same way that the people of Liev called upon their varied pantheon, so, too, did the elves call upon their God. It was true of all mortal beings. They desired the comfort and even the option of resigning themselves that something greater than them was in control. In that assumption, despite his fairly lacking knowledge of elves and their culture, the advisor to the Baidenese king had been right.
“Allow me a moment alone,” requested the king in a quiet voice, “and guard the door. It is the only way in and out of this room, as you are aware. I need a moment to think in silence and to pray and ask guidance. We need it now. Perhaps now more than we ever have.”
While he had been told not to leave the king by himself, one could not exactly trump the word of the king himself. A nod as the knight gathered himself and removed to the door to allow the king his privacy for the time being. He understood. Iowyr’s bond with the Holy was deeper than his own (and such was the reason for his kingship, for it was believed among the Ceredi that the king and his blood spoke most directly with their deity) and the need of privacy was well respected. Outside the door did the knight linger, and that was perfectly acceptable to him.
It was further into the evening than any had expected before the council was reconvened. Part of the difficulty had come from the fact that rounding everyone up had proved more arduous a task than they had initially thought. Then having them all mutually consent after the circus that had threatened to erupt at the end of the prior round of council proved tricky as well. When Iowyr and Drunel stepped into the room, Zanil and Arric were seated at the table already. Brayden and Mercurius were, for the moment, absent. Some of the decadence of apparel had been stripped--crowns, the fine embroidered outer robes, for first impressions had been made and they were moving to the point of true work to be done. It was the first time in many years but the argentine hair of the advisor was drawn away from his neck and into a high ponytail, spilling past his shoulders and seemingly accentuating the ears that had been so clearly torn.
“And does His Majesty Rosenlied intend to join us?”
“He asked for an interim moment to speak with Brayden before entering. I supposed a few moments was nothing to scoff at so long as it resulted in him being potentially more level headed.”
“That would be a benefit to us all, I do believe,” spoke the knight as he took his seat where he had been in the morning’s council. Iowyr made no verbal response as he joined them, his brows low. “I would hope he would have had more than ample time to regather his thoughts in a means that he felt beneficial to the goals of this council, but it seems I may have been wrong.”
“I would rather wait a few additional moments than risk him losing his temper. Is that something upon which we can by and large mutually agree?” Fair brows were still in a relaxed state, in contrast to the elven king’s. “I would hope so--”
“I merely do not want to waste my time waiting for him further…”
“Then do not.”
Up did heads lift as the doors open and it was the king himself who spoke those words. Brayden trailed a few steps behind him as the two entered the room with a steady pace. Mercurius took his seat while Brayden remained in the room with the knights, standing with the pride that being a Baidenese knight did entail. What he spoke of with Brayden was a mystery for another time, and none were quite in the humor to even jokingly ask.
“King Lander,” as he looked to his right, to where the blonde king of Vaira was seated. “I believe it is traditionally the role of the mediator to summarise where council stands.”
The mouth of the king hung slightly agape as Mercurius spoke so, though he did not comment about it. He would potentially inquire to that later, but in the current time, the duty of the mediator was as had been stated.
“Currently,” Arric began, summoning within him the familiar cadence to his voice used at council, “we are at an empasse as I have proposed more open communication between the Ceredi and the people of Liev by including Iowyr or his designated representative to attend councils with the kings of Liev. This is the point at which we opted for a recess as tensions began to make council unmanageable. The King of Baiden protested the presence of King Iowyr at councils as well as the appointment of dignitaries to serve as points of contact between Baiden and the Ceredi to improve relations.
“As far as the point that have been decided…” and so the king did recount what had been decided upon as far as the exchange of the prisoners and the opening of trade routes. Those were the things that had not been contested. But this, truthfully, was the turning point of peace. Especially any sort of long-term peace. Communication was essential, and if Mercurius was able to understand that, there may well be a chance. A solid one, at a long term peace.
“I will still not see the elves involved at councils of the kings of men. However,” as the hands motioned forward towards the elves who sat opposite him, “I am willing to conceded to emissaries.”
“As good as emissaries are and as glad as I am that there will be representation of my people among your government,” contested Iowyr, “I am only concerned that if it does not reach beyond Baiden, it may not harbor weight.”
“Are you saying that I and my country cannot be trusted to adhere to our own governing?”
Gently was the hand raised, a shake of the head. Iowyr knew he could not combat Mercurius head on, for such was a recipe for disaster. It was much like running headlong into a wall that hardened when it was struck--it would result in more injury than good. “Do not misunderstand that I do not trust you, King Rosenlied. Baiden is an outstanding country and well governed by a strong family. I have great respect for what the Rosenlieds have done, do not discredit that. However, the addition of parties not directly involved with the communications between the Ceredi and the people of Baiden is essential for many reasons. Much as we have Arric serving as a mediator and, by and by, he should side with you. Yet he does not, and offers an external opinion.”
“If I may suggest,” interjected Arric in the conversation for the moment, “the use of emissaries that are permitted to attend council with King Rosenlied. Such would offer representation of the Ceredi in the courts as well as communication between the Ceredi and the people of Baiden. A member of the Ceredi people would stand at council as a guest of Mercurius himself. Present, but not having as great a presence.”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. It was as though they were wary of saying anything for fear of overstepping certain bounds--for going too far, or not far enough. And, subconsciously, all were waiting for Mercurius to speak. Thus, it was no surprise when it was he that broke the silence, voice audible among all of them.
“Each kingdom is allowed no more than three representatives attending council. My concern is that one of those places would be occupied by the Ceredi and thus Baiden’s presence would be minimized.”
“This is easily rectified,” spoke Zanil as he turned his head to look at the king. No tension. No anger. Frankly, he was quite proud of the even cadence of his voice. It was not aggressive. It was not an argument. It was simply a statement, all the things that he had said. And Zanil genuinely felt proud of the change. The responsibility. “The Ceredi representative will not count against the number of Baidense agents that are permitted within the council. They will be a guest of Baiden, but not an agent thereto. I am sure, for the sake of continent-wide peace, the council will agree to this. It is but one additional person and with only minimal pull. I do not think it will be an ordeal.”
There was a moment of silence again, an expectant silence as those around did wait. Simply waited until it was finally Mercurius that spoke: “I see no qualm with this.”
“So our current agreements are as thus,” spoke Zanil, for it was he who would pen this as acting advisor to Baiden. “The exchange of all elven prisoners under Baidenese captive for all Baidenese prisoners under Ceredi captive; repair of the northern trading route within a reasonable time span and access of Baidenese merchants to it upon its full reinstatement; access to all trade routes through Baiden to allow the Ceredi trade with all of Liev; and, lastly, a minimum of one representative of the Ceredi and Baiden each that will meet on a regular basis to discuss the current state of politics between the two nations including the representative of the Ceredi attending the Lievan Councils when they are called unless otherwise decided by the representative of the Ceredi.”
“I suppose now is the time to begin to nail down specifics,” spoke the voice of Drunel from across the table, his eyes steady upon Mercurius. He was nearly offput by how calm the Rosenlied king was being, but for the moment he opted to merely vouch that it was a positive sign. His hand lifted slightly before himself, palm cupped as he motioned slowly. “As for how often the emissaries will meat to discuss. And under what parameters…”
The council continued well into the evening and out of respect of customs, none took a meal while at the table. Once all the details were decided, once all things were done and they did call council to end--until the next day, when the final official decree of peace would be signed--the primary first thought was upon food. The Baidenese were served within their corridors in their own separate rooms. But it was Arric who appeared at Mercurius’s door, carrying what had been given to him as far as rations for dinner were concerned.
“I surprised you aren’t dining with Zanil, “spoke the younger king as he stepped into the room. An unoccupied seat became his as he looked around the rather simple decor. Elves were not elaborate, there were few trinkets and fewer prints; it seemed in the elven aesthete, much focus was placed upon the appearance of the person over the appearance of the nonhuman, the decorations.
“He asked to be left alone for the evening,” the Baidense man elaborated, before he gave a weary sigh. “It seemes we will have peace again. Even a few months of war has felt--heavy. Like an eternity, when life has been nothing but peace.”
The darker-skinned hand was upon the table and for a moment the eyes of a fairer blue merely lingered upon them. Not a word was said and yet there was no tension to the silence: the silence simply was. A soft, appreciatd lack of sound.
But Arric came to lightly place his hand over Mercurius’s and their eyes met. And finally the younger king gave a smile.
“We should be thankful that peace was so easily come by. That the elves would have council. That this war coste only as many lives as it did, and not more. Silas truly did watch over you and smile upon you, Mercurius. I am sure he would be proud.”
And all the Baidenese man managed was a small exhale, head hung slightly. “I would hope so.”
Abigail was not even aware that she had fallen asleep when she was roused by the blonde who had served as her companion as of late. When it came to disparity of culture, the two were likely akin to as different as she and the man behind bars were. Gentle were the hands that lifted her from where she dozed, her head leaned idly against one of the stone walls on either side of the bars that served as the door. Bleary was her vision as she looked up and was cognitive of not only her hunger but her aching pain. As she rose, the tension in her back only served to remind her of the fact that falling asleep listening to tales of another land was not ideal when her body was already quite strained by the state it was it. It was only exacerbated. Then she looked towards Silvya and towards Iolas, and he, too, had found rest in a similar state, though in the back of the room. Who had fallen asleep first was anyone’s guess, but Iolas was granted still the respite of continued slumber. He was, essentially, a dead man. Why not allow him little luxuries?
“Come on, now,” as the woman nudged the lower back of the queen to guide her away. “Be glad only I saw you. No servants yet. Tch, servants and their rumors…” And what, if any rumors, would boil out of the fact that the queen was found sleeping, twined in fur, outside the cell of her husband’s bastard half brother who had started the war. That would be a story for the ages. The chill made Abigail’s boans ache, the tightness of sleeping in such a position and in such a chill rent her even more uncomfortable in the morning than she usually was. And the queen could only hope it would not wear on her.
“How in Silas’s name do you do it, Silvya? I have yet to see you bend or waver under the life it is you carry.” For that was true. Never once had the woman of the north shown any sort of errance or exhaustion. She rose before Abigail and often was more physical than her: much as a knight captain would, she trained alongside some of the younger recruits that remained still in Baiden. Her style was different, modified because of the need to protect the growing child inside of her, but even yet she was able to go sprawling back and land on her rump and yet still draw herself back up unphased. Abigail hardly rose in the cold without a dull ache within her bones. It could also be that the cold was too intense for her. Oran’s climate was considerably more temperate. For Silvya, she was quite adjusted to the extreme frigidity of winter.
She could have spoken of what Iolas said. The thought crossed her mind, but instead she merely cast a glance to him and drew about her the fabrics of her cloak and the fur that she was clad in. “A bath--”
There was a pat on the lower back of the woman and a low chuckle from Silvya. “I have already asked they draw a bath for you. If you slept away from a fire, well, it is very cold. You are not from the North. You get cold easy. The bath water will be hot when you get it.”
Now she stood on her own, able to walk forward in time with the other woman. Their steps did not quite match, for the queen’s legs were longer, but they kept pace with one another.
“I do confess my envy of you, Silvya. You seem to be unphased by whatever life may throw at you. If I were more like you--”
“Ah-ah,” as she gave a playful tap upon the shoulder that was concealed by many a layer of fabric. “Do not compare. Do not want to be me, like me. There is a reason I am me and you are you, Abigail. We were made like this to do this, whatever ‘this’ is.”
Made like this.
Made for this.
Was she truly made to be a mother and raise a child? The idea almost hurt her. But she was also aware she did far more than mother. She commanded at impromptu councils, and she spoke for her people. She was a queen and soon would be a mother, and that was what she was made for. Or so she would like to think. It was inevitable that one in her role would be mandated to wear many hats, to play numerous roles. And that was what she was made for. She was not hardy in the same ways as the other woman, but truthfully comparing herself to anyone--including, in this case, the queen that had ruled before her, seeing as there were instances of her visage nearly everywhere in the castle. Near constantly did the woman feel as though she would be judge by Georgiana’s merit and some part of her grew to fear the former Rosenlied queen’s shadow that seemed to edge itself through the castle. Georgiana and all those that came before her, as well.
Those were the moments she felt so small.
“Breakfast will be ready when you are done bathing.” After all, hadn’t Zanil asked her to take care of the queen? She intended to do just that and so she attended to such things before even setting out to find Abigail. And it hadn’t exactly been easy. “Take care of yourself better! It’s not just for you anymore.”
And so the queen smiled, and held her head a little taller than she initially had. She was made or this, so Silvya had said, and she would take pride in it. How strange the castle would be when all the knights and kings and advisors had returned and she contended with them on a daily basis instead of the servants that still ducked away from her when she walked down the hall and the one strong woman of the north that held her stable through all this.
“Would you eat with me, Silvya? I would rather not dine alone this morning.”
“Two pregnant women? We will run the servants worth their salt.” and up were those bright blue eyes turned as they met Abigail’s gold and the women laughed.
Arric ate alone. It was not a prepared meal, not a scheduled one, and he took it in the private sleeping quarters on a table that, in summer, would be beneath the light of the sun given the tilted skylight that made its way through the mountain above. Now, in winter, the table was illuminated by a flickering candle as he made his lunch (he presumed it was lunch, for they had taken breakfast before they had joined the council) of bread, cheese, dried meats, preserves of fruits, and part of a fresh apple. How they maintained fresh fruit through the winter, the king had no notion.
Much of the time was not spent eating so much as it was spent gazing into the flickering flame that glowed before him, reflecting in the pupil of his eye as he attempted to find some sort of solution. There was much weight upon his shoulders, or at least, he was under the impression that this was the case--he would have harbored a strong preference for simply being able to speak of his ideas with Zanil, to muse over options. But this was the weight of the Lander family, he had to think. The fact that a solution may lay at his fingertips but his own hesitation may cost it.
Weary was the sigh was the knife delved into the small glass jar that contained the remnants of summer’s harvest of grapes. Across the sliced bread did it smear before it was brought to his lips and he took a bite. A few crumbs fell, and his hand brushing them away. There was a middle ground, and the pressure was upon him to find it.
The rapping on his dore drew him forth from the reverie that did trouble his mind. Upon the table was his bread and jam placed and he opened the door taking little mind to hazard even a guess as to what was on the other side. Inward did the door swing as to reveal who stood on the opposite side and, to little surprise, he was faced with Mercurius. His gaze lifted, eyes blinking as the dark shape was visible even in the dim lighting.
“Arric.”
“Mercurius,” as the male gripped to the door and made as thought to push it again. “I do not think it wise of advisable that we speak. Our discussion will reconvene at the council. And I, I pass to you Zanil’s advice: Eat while you’ve the chance. We have no notion of how council will go…”
“Don’t oppose me.”
“What?”
That was when the younger king found himself rooted and felt the burn of anger in him. It hued his face red so often it was mistaken for embarrassment, or even some mutation of shyness. But that was not the case. It was anger and frustration as he knew that Mercurius was attempting manipulation. He was attempting coercion by force and it caused the jaws of the fair-haired prince to tighten. This behavior--
“It is as I said. Do not oppose me. Do not act as though you are my enemy when you were brought to be an ally--”
“If you think speaking against you makes me an enemy, Mercurius, then I am afraid the whole of this council is a waste of time. I am not here to bend to your whims. I am to act as a negotiatior. I am to find the median, the peace. I am not here to take sides, regardless of what we are outside of this, Mercurius. You would do well to respect that--”
“You have--”
“Mercurius.”
There was no positive out to this conversation. The exhale was audible from the Vairan king as it was Zanil who interjected himself, walking down the hall with a steady gate and clapping a firm hand upon the Baidenese king’s shoulder. The moment of distraction was enough for Arric’s weight to push against the door and close it, a heavy sigh coming from him as he moved away from the door. He heard the sounds of the two men walking away and had to admit at least some relief at the concept. His head ached slightly and he had no desire to return to the stress of council, but knew he must.
“You,” spoke the advisor in a tone that was honestly at least reasonably accusatory, “should do your best to leave your negotiator well enough alone. He is doing more than enough for you…”
“Doing it for me?” as the king stilled his feet, shrugging from his shoulder the weight of the man’s hand and going so far as to stride a bit away. “He is doing little for me. I should have known his alliances were still with the elves--”
There was a moment of hesitation, knowing well that what he wanted to do was likely a bad idea. But he squared his jaw and lifted his hand and across the face of the darker haired male did he land a firm smack, the sound radiating through the corridor. Thankfully, not through closed doors, and not enough to call Brayden or the other Baidenese guards that peopled this wing of the elven halls. It was a hard enough expression that the king stooped slightly in reaction, a hand upon the place of his skin that was gradually reddening.
“Mind your damned mouth. I have been too kind to you for too long but I will not stand here and tolerate your disgusting racism towards someone who is doing well to assist you and doing well to acclimate himself to you. No more. He is here to serve as the median between Baiden and the Ceredi. Why would it not make sense to have someone with elf blood involved?
“Furthermore,” quite frankly the king was too stunned to speak, the sting of the smack upon his dark skin, “he is not even born of the Ceredi. I know Arandel, I know his advisor. He served Arric’s father, and he came across the south seas with the half-elf woman that is Arric’s mother. You cannot stand here and tell me you are under the illusion that all elves work in kind. The elves of the north and the elves of the south have little uncommon. Neither religion nor hardly language, save for the most common tongue. To think the Vairan king has any tie or loyalty to them is much like saying that the Meh’rokan king has an alliance with the Northmen. Passing knowledge of and lack of animosity does not, by necessity, mandate alliance. I would think such a warmongering country would understand that.
“You will,” as he planted his feet firmly and turned to gaze upon the king who was slowly rising from his bent position, “respect Arric as he deserves to be. I have seen many a Lander quiet a Rosenlied in council and I am proud that he can do the same. I am disgusted that Rosenlieds keep needed to be quieted, and part of it is my fault. Let it be known that I chose Abigail for you because the woman has sense in her head to oppose your nonsense.
“This is enough. War is enough to change minds. I would hope it would get to yours, but it seems I am once again to be disappointed in your behavior, Mercurius.”
Disappointed. Frankly, the king wanted to be angry. He wanted to stand before Zanil and tell him of the fact his pompous attitude and all-knowing nature had served as an irritant, as a thorn in his side but instead he simply stared.
“You will not find peace by being so unwavering. You will not find it in this life or the next, nor will you find it in your kingdom or your relationships. The trees that live the longest are those that bend and curve to the sun. You have to bend and give to find peace.”
“Is not attending this council giving enough?”
“Absolutely not. How badly--how much have I failed in raising you?!” came Zanil’s voice as he once again raised his hands to push argentine hair from his face. Visibly his chest rose and fell with the weight of breathing upon him. “Act as a king. You have been raised for this, To rule. And to rule, you have to learn to bend.”
Still did the hands of the king linger upon his face, upon the place where he had been stricken. And yet when he opened his mouth to speak, he could not bring himself to form words. Disappointed. Be a king. He had cried before Zanil and wept when he became king, and expressed doubts of it. “Be a king…” mirrored the man’s voice of some of the words that had been spoken by the advisor who lingered across from him. Dark brows knit tight above his eyes before he spoke again. “So you would have me yield to their demands?”
“I am not saying you should cast of what you feel is right, Mercurius. I am simply asking you at least make some sort of middle ground possible. If you will not bend or lean, then we will get nowhere. This will not--Mercurius.”
“What?” There was a waver voice, a softness to it that was almost unheard in the man’s voice. The weakness therein was revealed as he looked across at Zanil.
“You do not look yourself.”
“Perhaps I am not suited to be king--”
“We cannot have such discussions here, Mercurius. Those thoughts have lingered over your for years and I will not hear them. You have been a good king, but a challenged one. One that was presented with war for the first time in many years. And you have done your best. In a way, one cannot fault you for simply doing what you can, as this has not been easy for you. For anyone. But you must understand that Iowyr, too, is king, as is Arric.
“Communication will beget peace. I knew that, and yet I was the one that simply disregarding my own instincts and desires when it came to maintaining peace. Working as an advisor. The primary functions of my duties. I am as guilty of this as you, as guilty of my ills and my wrongdoings. This is why I beg you to reconsider. To think over these offers simply out of love for your people, and their need for safety--their need for peace. I am quite sure that they would rather have an ambassador than more war. Than an elongation of something that could be solved. I do not ask you to change, but to bend.
“And,” as the man moved past the king with a slight glance over his shoulder, “to perhaps widen your worldview. There is more in this world than simply humans, and there are more upon Liev than humans, no. If the Gods have no qualms with it, why should you? Seek me out when we are ready to reconvene council. I would advise you eat, rest, and think.”
For time being, Mercurius merely lingered in the hallway. The light cast shadows from the mirrors, upon his face. And in that moment he frowned deep, knowing these were familiar thoughts. They had plagued him since the death of his father. Be a king. Do what is best for the country. But was there any way to know that what he was doing was, truly, the best for the country?
“I realize more than you would assume I know, Arric.” Ire had raised in the king’s voice and part of the fair king desired nothing to to flinch, to draw back. But he kept himself steeled, breathing in through his nose to fill his lungs. If nothing else, it helped him stabilize himself as he turned his gaze upon the king who threatened to rise from the council. “I understand that this is supposedly a point at which we can bend and lean and that Baiden’s peace impacts all of Liev. As soon as this war began, it was impressed upon me by multiple facets that such is the case. You will understand that I have grown weary of the repetition. But there are limits. Pushing too far into Baiden’s affairs is neither your place nor the council’s--and you stand here making decisions for the entire council in regards to the involvement of the elven king in Liev’s affairs.” Whereas Arric’s voice remained by and large steady even as he disapproved of the behavior, Mercurius’s rose. The sound reverberated from the council room that was far smaller and, arguably, less acoustically sound. And yet his voice seemed to fill every crack and all eyes were upon him. The tone mandated respect or, more likely, fear. “I will not have too great an involvement of the other countries in our affairs.”
“You have proven that you cannot handle the country on your own,” came the harsh words of the advisor that shattered the solid mien put forward by the king. Visibly the black-haired male flinched at the statement. “Such is why I saw to Abigail becoming your bride. But traveling would have been hard upon her body, upon your heir.”
“I cannot handle the country? How dare you--”
“Peace,” came the voice of the elven king, containing similar properties to the raised voice of the human king. “This council is not for your internal debate. It is to put and end to the senseless war and death. Neither side has anything to gain but peace…”
Squared was the jaw as once again Mercurius rose from his seat and his hands slammed hard upon the table before him. “Liev is a country of humans, rules by humans. That elves are playing a part…”
For the first time since the men had been seated at the council table, Arric rose. His height was likely the least mpressive of those that filled the room and yet there was a bizarre light, a radiance about him that turned eyes to him as he kept his voice stable still, a flat hand extended forward. “That the elves are playing a part mandates change. Adaptation. It is necessary for survival. So animals must change to fit the situation they are given, we, too, must adapt or fail, King Rosenlied.”
“Then Baiden will fails as it is before it will adapt to that which it was founded against.”
“Baiden.” began Zanil, who remained seated to the side of the kings who stood and faced one another. “You speak as though you know of its founding. I myself only know stories, for I came to the employ afterwards. But Baiden was not build upon exclusion, as you may have us believe, Mercurius. No--it was built upon strength, upon solidarity. Where the hatred of elves came from, well…”
“The so-called hatred of the elves came when the northern elves invaded our lands. Baiden once extended to the sea until they came…”
“Kingdoms change. Once Liev was itself from sea to see, unified. And now it is many, as it was deemed best. Do you think Baiden itself is greater than what was once a unified nation? The elves are here. Would you banish them?”
This wrought from the king a laugh as he pushed his hair from his face. The action caused the brows of the advisor to crease, yet for the moment he remained mute. “Is that not the whole purpose of this council? The fact that I made it clear I would?”
“Peace,” demanded the voice of the elven king as tension began to rise. His voice was raised slightly, yes, and it filled the room. Not in the same way that Mercurius’s did, no, but still it did and attention turned to him. Both kings turned their eyes to him and with all the poise and grace one would expect of an elven noble, the man rose. “We must keep in mind that the end goal of this council is just that. However, I ask also that I be respected in my kingdom. I am a king, as are both of you. Talk of the annihilation of my people is what this council was called to avoid.”
“The king is correct,” spoke the advisor. Not once had he stood or raised his voice, and by and large his statements were only affirmative to Arric. However, this time, he felt the need to speak in direct opposition of his king. This cause the eyes of the man to turn upon him and narrow. “This council is for peace. Bickering over history or the future will do nothing to rectify the problems of the present. If can at minimum agree on that, perhaps we can get somewhere. If, however, this is going to dissolve into naught but threats and bickering, nothing will be achieved. It will be a waste of our time. All of our time.”
A heavy sigh came from the Baidenese king as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I do desire peace. I do not by necessity desire the interweaving of our cultures. So far we have remained separate, and I would prefer it not change moving forward. I see no reason for emissaries. I see no reason for the elves to take part in council.”
“Such is like saying you would prefer Meh’rok be kept from councils if only because you would rather not deal with them.” He could have lifted his gaze to Mercurius or even directed it at Iowyr or Drunel. But instead it was upon his hands resting idly upon the table, not dragging his nails into it as his king had nor seeming overly relaxed. There was a tension to him. A tension that few had seen of the man. “If the Ceredi are to remain in the north, then communication with them is the only way to keep peace. You cannot have one without the others, King Rosenlied, and to act as though such is possible is folly. Acting as though that would work is what has lead to this situation--and I would know. It is as Arric has said. Adaptation is necessary for Baiden to be able to flourish. I am not saying to single-handedly tear down the mores of your society and the parameters set up by your fathers and their fathers. But changes must be made if you wish for the country to simply continue in a positive light. That is why you agreed to this council.
“However, if you continue to push back whenever there are requests made of you, you are wasting all of our time. The elven king has agreed to your primary request: the safe passage of your people to the northern trading post once it has been reestablished. It was the suggestion of an ally, your ally, another king of Vaira, that you communicate with the Ceredi for the sake of all of Liev. To continue to balk against it is simple selfishness.
“You will endanger many lives if you continue to act in this manner. I would assume that a man bearing the name of Rosenlied would be more willing to do what was needed for his country than this and I would certainly hate to be wrong.”
“Do not sit before me and disrespect my name. You have no right to,” spoke the Baidenese king. “You have gotten away with far too much for far too long, Zanil. I would loathe to be the one to see to dismissing the advisor of so many of my fathers from his position--”
“Stop.” It was Drunel’s voice that interjected and heads turned to him. Once more, save for Zanil’s. “We will take a recess from council for emotions are beginning to run high.” Iowyr had said nothing but visibly the tips of his fingers shook as he listened to the other kings speak. Frankly, the fact that the fate of his people hung in the balance of the men that spoke before him caused a burn in the back of his throat, thought he would not confess to it. “I am sure all parties are in agreement that attempts at neutrality will get nowhere when tensions are allowed to escalate.”
The primary worry was the fact that Mercurius may balk at the idea. And such was indeed his knee-jerk reaction--however, he lifted his own hand as he did not even bother to seat himself again. “Then a brief interim we will take.”
As was expected of the king, he wanted little to do with the escort of the elves back to the wing that the Baidenese people were occupoint. It was mandated, of course, but the moment some privacy was alotted to him it was taken. Initially, the Vairan king had made at least some attempt to follow after when the door closed behind the taller man, but a hand upon his shoulder stilled him. Firm was the grip of the advisor’s hand upon his shoulder.
“Let him be.”
“But if he simply barricades himself away--”
“I have dealt with many generations of Rosenlieds. Mercurius’s temper is not unlike his father’s and his moods are not unlike his mother’s. I almost pity him, in a way. The combination has done him no favors.” A hand between the shoulder blades pressed a bit to guide the petite king away from the door, as though such would serve to prevent any further temptation to look in or speak with the Baidenese king, for the time being. “Allowing him to be wound too tightly and not decompress is a recipe for disaster, I am sure you can understand. That is how the threats of genocide had been rought up. There was none there to curb him.”
Deep was the frown of the king as he turned his gaze up to the taller, argentine figure. “I am sorry. Perhaps if Davin had been aware--maybe then…”
“There is no time or use in ruminating over the way things could have been if someone had known this or that,” as the pand pressed on that point between the king’s shoulders and urged him to walk a few paces forward, away from the room. He was not sure of the intensity of the soundproofing with mountain halls and so he did not want to run the risk of Mercurius overhearing any part of the conversation. “Especially not where we stand now. When I am penning the history, we will talk of what-ifs. We will cause those ideas long into the night, if you would chose. But for now, we must let the king catch his breath.
“I was too kind to him as he grew,” came the advisor’s voice as his hand dropped from the back of the blonde king. “His father and I both. We pitied him, for having been so near to his mother and her quick departure. I forsook the harshness that I gave many others. I fear I loved him too much, too deeply. I feel I spoiled him in a way. Part of this is my own fault.
“But here I am. Doing that which I scolded you for. I would have you know,” as they stilled by one of the mirrors that reflected the light. It flickered upon them, extended their shadows as they stilled their steps in these foreign lands. “I agree with you. The war happened because it was allowed to, but that truthfully that can be said of most things. It could have been circumvented, but the change of a king upon the throne will have a heavy weight upon peace. That is, if we can have the iron will of the Rosenlied king bend to the notion he is wrong.
“Emissaries. Councils. The use of the word over force, that is all she wanted,” though the last part came as a mutter behind a raised hand, causing the fair king to crane his head as thought to better hear. A wave of the hand as it was dismissed lazily. “Do not concern yourself overmuch. Mercurius has been like this since he was a child. Allow the man time to catch his breath and perhaps then he will be reasonable. If not, we will continue on.”
A heavy sigh came from Arric as soon as the monologue of the advisor came to an end. This caused the gaze of the taller man to turn to him, his brow arched visibly at it. “What purpose do I serve at this council if I am not to bring peace, Zanil?”
It was the turn of the advisor to give a weary sigh as he moved his hair away from his face. “Peace is not something so easily gotten. It comes from war. It comes from councils that may well last for days, weeks. I can say that I was indeed hopeful that this may be a simpler resolution than we may have foreseen. But I am not predicting that at our current state. And if the weather keeps up, we may well be barricaded within the confines of the elven cities until spring. If nothing else, that will allow us ample time to come to some sort of treaty.”
This was the first time that the face of the man had broken into anything resembling a smile since the stress of the council had threatened to snuff it out for some time. “That is assuming Mercurius does not continue to lose his temper and draw weapons. That is something I do not even think the expertise negotiators that brought Liev to peace after the Grand War could rectify.”
Once again there was a noncommittal gesture with his hand in response to the statement, fingers slightly flexed as they motioned away from him. “There are many things that I think my king is foolish enough to do, Arric. It is to anyone’s benefit to know that this is one that I feel is unlikely--going so far as to draw weapons at a council of peace. It would take something great indeed to make him act so foolishly, in the long run. I think better of him than that.”
“You speak the truth, Zanil,” as forward did Arric stride, aimlessly. There was no goal in his mind. No end point. He simply took a few steps forward. Then he pressed the palms of his hands to the bottom of his tunic to smoothes at it, if only out of a nervous twitch. Forever, always he would remember Mercurius looking across the table at him as though they were light years apart before he spoke: don’t fidget. But here? He had none to impress. Zanil knew well the flaws of the Baidenese king. Why not know some of the Vairan’s as well? “I would like to have the same faith in him that you do.”
“I would like to keep the faith as much as I can, Arric.”
There was notable concern from the Vairan king for a moment before he saw the lips were turned up into a smile.
“I was concerned for a moment.”
“I was concerned you were about to break either your hand or the table in there. I suppose that I took it upon myself to at least relieve the pressure somewhat.” And for a moment, for that brief moment, there was an exhale that was shared between the two of them. The breath that was held through all the council. “All things will be as they are meant to be. A this point, I have simply exhaled and placed faith in that which is greater than us.”
One who knew more of the truth behind Zanil’s origins, they would discredit it. But the statement brought forth a bit of relaxation upon the looks of the petite king before him. Long ago, long, long ago Zanil had learned that it was easier for humans to place at least some sort of faith in something greater than themselves. That was why the worship of the deities were still practiced. That was why it was so essential. It allowed humans to have at least something to lean against. To have faith in. And he wondered if the elven counterparts spoke similarly: of the faith in the divine. In the greater. Based on the words of Iolas, he would believe so--but in truth, the advisor had no means to know. How different could coping mechanisms be?
“It is good in these times to turn to something bigger than yourself, Arric. It’s fine in a time of comfort for many people.”
There was a momentary pause, a lull in conversation. Then the younger king spoke up once more: “If you are Baidenese, Zanil, do I understand correctly that you a follower of Silas?”
For a moment, there was a pause. Zanil said nothing, before there was a slight shake of his head. “I am older than most take me for, Arric, and I know even more than that. I believe in the gods, all of them, as most do; I ask each for their guidance. But I am one of the last followers of the Sleeping Gods, the Lost Gods. Turning to them for answers, though, has little bearing. I call upon Silas when need be; upon the others, in turn. My loyalties are Baidenese, but on a greater scale… my loyalties are indeed greater than you could imagine.
“But,” as the man cut himself short, his pensive gaze no longer upon the mirror. “I would bore you. While we’ve a moment of recess, I would suggest at least finding something upon which to dine. I cannot see the elves condoning eating at council, and who knows when the next opportunity we will have to eat will be?”
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These were not his halls. They were not the stone walkways that he was accustomed to. Nor were they the halls of his allied kings within Liev. There was a wholly different style, a different feeling to it. Whether it was the dwarves who had erected these halls, or ancient relations of the Baidenese, or any other people or group of people, they were not the halls that he was accustomed to. This left a slight sensation of unease as he was escorted through them, flanked by Zanil and Arric and, naturally, those that were knights of the elves that he would have council with. By all means, all the words spoken prior, every implication and every statement, only served the truth. All the power was on Baiden’s side. And yet there was still nervousness in him. But he took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height as they neared the doors that opened before him. They swung inwards, mighty doors of metal and glass that reflected the scant light of fires that burned down the hallways. Not a creak, not a groan from the mechanics of the dwarves that had been installed here: the doors were not opened with a push, but opened by a turned handle deeper within the room, attended by one of the elven servants. Those that stood by the door were armored with their weapons held across their chest. They were finer, elegant, better crafted than the ones Mercurius had seen upon the battlefield. They were ceremonial--all of this was. His armor. Their swords. This was a council, but it was a play at war. Now that he had seen it, he knew it. The ceremony and the dress. It made his heart seize for just a moment but he said nothing until they stood within the doors.
He could not deem the truth behind this, but there was a definite feeling this was not the usual layout of the room. There was a table that sat in the middle, bare save for a deep blue cloth draped along the middle of it. The chairs looked slightly askew, worn. There was little call for councils in the north, Mercurius could assume, for this was clearly the throne room. At the head of the table there did indeed sit the ornate chair, the one in which he could only assume the king would sit. For now, Iowyr stood there, draped in his colors and crowned with a delicate crown, a contrast to the heavier one worn by the man. It was more akin to Arric’s than to Mercurius’s. And for a moment, all breaths within the room were held. They were like ice within expanded lungs before it was Drunel who broke the silence. Within him truthfully was the concern that all things may remain silent if none were audacious enough to cast off the silence that settled within the room. Such would accomplish nothing.
“Representatives of Baiden,” as his hand rest upon his chest in a manner that was unsettlingly comfortable to the Baidenese salute that Mercurius was very familiar with, “we welcome you to the hall of our Graceful Majesty Iowyr, son of our Late Graceful Majesty Ionwhyn. It is today we meet to discuss the peace of both our lands, and…”
Slow was the fair hand that rose to silence the knight. As fingers pointed upward towards the sky and were locked together, Mercurius felt his stomach sink once more: it was a motion that he knew well. The notion that even some things were shared between cultures was unsettling; he squared his jaw and made every attempt to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He had been taught and learned that there was little to nothing in common between the Baidenese people and the elves, but he was seeing that was not the truth.
He had learned much since he had found himself at war, since he had proclaimed war. He had not wanted this shared culture to be one of those things. Had he been oblivious to it before?
The hand lowered from its position before the knight and gestured towards the table. The fabric of the long sleeves nearly draped to the floor, elaborate stitching of silver and shining designs. It was undeniably the image that was summoned when one imagined an elven lord. And Mercurius was the painted picture of a Baidenese king. “I ask you all be seated,” came the voice of the elven king after he let his hand fall to his side once more. “And we may begin the council. There is no need to re-educate all of us on why we are here to meet, though I am glad for Drunel breaking the silence. I would have us all seated as equals so we may begin.”
Drunel stood and was seated in the space that Alduin would once have filled. But there was no sight nor sound of the advisor since he had parted ways from Iolas and he was presumed dead, lest he would have appeared somewhere. What fate befell him was a mystery. But down into that seat did Drunel find himself. It was he and the king, and opposite them on the oval shaped table were Zanil, Arric, and Mercurius. Brayden remained standing with the other knights of Baiden, for he was no advisor. A friend indeed, yes. But he was no advisor.
“I will not mince words, Iowyr.” The king of the Elves visibly winced at being addressed so bluntly.There were stories of council, of how they should go. He had never personally attended one save for the impromptu meeting at the Circle of the Gods and yet there was a distinct feeling that the address was one of disrespect. Arric had addressed each king by title at the first council he had attended and so it was within Liev. To think that this address was without at least some malicious intent would be in err, but the Vairan king did not yet speak up to protest the means of address. If that was as far as the insult went, he would let it slide. “All power of war is within my court. I have made the mandate of death or desertion and I can still make that happen.”
“I will not sit here and be threatened, King Rosenlied.” He could hae been petty, he could have easily acted in kind by referring to the king without any dignity. But he did not, simply placing his hands upon the table and lifting his head. There was much effort within him to hold himself as a king should be held, a stiffness to his existence there at the end of the table. He even seemed to school his breathing as though he feared it would exhibit some sort of malaise. “We have called this council to speak of peace.”
“You call me to speak of peace when you have held my people captive within your confines for--I am not even aware of how long. You cannot masquerade as though this is a simple instance of nothing but conversations of peace.”
“King Rosenlied.” For he was not Mercurius here, and he knew he could not be. He had to be King Rosenlied, before his allies and current enemies alike. The statement from Arric seemed to snap the Baidenese ruler back from where he had wandered, but he said nothing. “None of us can make claims that we have held peace. You cannot lord over him the fact he has Baidenese prisoners when you yourself harbor elves within the Gray Wing.”
This caused both the king and Drunel’s eyes to widen visibly and near did hte king even come to rising. “I was unaware of this--” as his gaze cut towards the knight seated by him who, despite having been within the confines of the capital city of Baiden, had not informed this. But--no. He had not been aware of it, and so had made no comment on it. “Drunel?”
“I,” as there was a waver in his voice before he continued, a hand extending to urge the king to seat himself once more. “I was unaware of the fact there were captives. As I informed you, I was within Baiden’s castle for only one day and kept under guard during that period.”
“Please,” spoke the Vairan king with his brows knit, his hands flat upon the table. “Now the knowledge of captives is on both sides, perhaps we can move forward with talks of peace. We can resolve the means of captives when we have resolved peace. We should not begin with threats or harsh words. It is best to begin with what each side desires. Please.” While the voice of the Vairan king was certainly soft and he did use the gentlest words he could imagine, there was something stern. It was not a light statement and not one to be disregarded despite the kindness of it. “If you would proceed, King Iowyr,” as the blonde king gazed across at the elf as he slowly lowered himself back into the seat he had slightly risen above, “with what you desire of this council.”
“Once again we can all agree there is a singular goal that is unanimous.” There was a slight difference of his voice as it seemed to have lost some of the rigidity that he had prior, as though his resolution wavered even slightly. “We desire peace. An end to this war. I can say for now, that is the only demand I will place upon the table--this may change in time.”
“I am sure that you understand that is one of our primary goals as well,” spoken the advisor to the Baidenese king, nearly interjecting before the man would have a chance to make any sort of response, “and that we did not desire this war. However, there were agreements that were infracted upon your people’s end prior to things escalating. Baiden did err by turning a blind eye when we received notification that your people would no longer be sending the results of the census to us. Furthermore, you closed off the northern pass and made trade with the Men of the North far more difficult than it was prior. While we cannot by necessity say that the fault for all of this is within your court as far as Iolas is concerned, he is still of the Ceredi people, and his fault will reflect upon yours. I am not wholly proud of this fact, but that is how it is viewed. If any under the raiments of Baiden acted against your people, we would take claim for their actions.
“So we ask how you will make amends. Our current demands are only that the northern trade post be reopened and that new arrangements are penned. I can judge already, King Iowyr, that you are more level-headed than your father and will be more fit to see reason. I must ask that Mercurius and Augustus differ in these ways, though, or I am afeared council will not end well.” Sidelong was the glance and upon a sneer did it fall, but immediately Mercurius did not retort. He was well aware of the fact the was not known for being the most level headed when it came to debates. Their last attempt was a prime example of that.
Silence was heard for a moment, as though he was awaiting Zanil to speak again. Or Arric. Iowyr frowned deeply as he realized the sentiments were shared by all those on the opposite of the table. “In truth,” as his gaze lifted from his fingernails to the men that sat across from him, “I can only condemn Iolas to a certain extend. If you came to expect that I would speak out in abhorrence of him, you are certainly in the wrong. I would like to address that before we continue. Iolas had his father’s charisma--he was able to rally those behind him seeking change. I can certainly say that did not come from Ellewynn. I will not stand and deny that there was indeed a great need for change. This has set change forward in motion, and I hope it is for the best.
“I have little choice but to take on the weight of what ever wrong it may be that Iolas has done. I am aware he attacked you, King Lander,” as the eyes turned to the fair king seated to the right of Mercurius, “and for that I can offer only apologies but no amends. For all the supposed magic in the blood of elves, I cannot change the past.
“I will, however, share with you bad news.” For the moment that he paused, the air was thick with tension. What further bad news was there to deliver? “The northern port that you seem so intent upon. It was destroyed. The Northmen ransacked it once--when situations between they and the Ceredi turned sour. That is your northern trade route was closed off, though I am sure that when the news was delivered to your father that it was not painted as so.”
Down did dark brows tilt as the Baidenese king gazed across the table draped in blue towards the elven king. “That does not negate the fact that it was destroyed through the fault of the Ceredi. Demanding its restoration for the use of Baiden is still within a reasonable demand. If it was the Ceredi that lead to the destruction and disuse, then it is the Ceredi that should be responsible for its repairs, whether it was spite that closed the northern route or not.”
“Let it be known that the lack of trade with the north impacted us severely as well, and not merely baiden,” returned the voice of the knight, for hte king sat immobile. Council was difficult for even those that were most seasoned in it, such as Zanil and arguably even Arric, so for one that had not been king for even yet a year to be expected to host the council and play the role of dignitary when he was taught little but hate was difficult. So Drunel, more adept at dissolving disagreements between his own units than handing matters of great security, attempted to divert things as best he could. “While the people of Baiden primarily received trade from the Northmen, we dealt with both the humans and the elves that lived in the north. We were almost entirely cut off from trade.”
“Then might I inquire,” for it was Arric that pitched his statement in, making a small gesture with his hand, “as to why, exactly, the trade point was not rebuilt? If it was mutually beneficial. I was aware that the Ceredi had few to no trade routes but to have allowed the primary one to fall into disuse seems almost… intentional.”
“I had every intent to reallocating resources to repair the trade port when I became king,” Iowyr spoke, his voice having at least somewhat more conviction than it had prior. “However, Ionwhyn died suddenly--in the middle of the war.” Died suddenly. There were a few that were within the innermost circle that knew the truth of what had happened but non dared to speak of it--none were so brazen. And none for sure were able to confirm the truth without any sort of confirmation from the king himself, and he was in no hurry to out his own action. The last thing the society of the elves needed was discourse regarding their king. Killing his father may not have been the most ideal notion for him to have done and yet he could not quite merit allowing him to further drive the elves into the ground. AT the time, it had been the only choice. But some days…
But as he sat here, he knew his father would not have even made these attempts, so he folded his hands before him again. His gaze was mostly upon the other king as opposed to those that were seated on either side of him. It was easier to focus upon a singular person instead of the triad that sat there, flanked by Brayden and the other knights who stood around him. There were a smattering of elvish knights, of course, but they had not about them the air of intimidation that Baidenese knights carried. It was but one of many disparities at this table.
“This have not exactly gone as they were planned to. My father’s sudden death changed things quite drastically, and for that…”
“So the ports will be repaired. Will be pass be reopened for us?” This was less like the calm negotiations of Zanil for this was the voice of the king again. He placed a hand flat upon the table and even leaned forward slightly. When it came to Mercurius, it was almost difficult to distinguish if his body language was intended to be threatening or if it was simply how he had always held himself: both were viable options. “One without the other is pointless.”
“If the negotiations come to terms, then yes. When the port is rebuilt, then the pathway will be reopened. In accordance with this agreement.
“However,” spoke the elven king, “you must keep in mind that we are within our rights to make similar demands. The hostilities of the trade routes between our mountains and the Black Forest were destroyed. Not by any singular force, but because we could not travel them without being attacked. These will be reopened, these will be protected however you see fit.”
“Baiden does not reach all the way to the black forest,” mentioned Zanil as he pushed argentine hair from his face, peering across at the elves. This was perhaps the first time that his hair had been moved in a way to make quite clear the jagged tips of his ears where they had been torn, and visibly the eyes of the knight did widen. But no remark was made, if only out of simple politeness. “We cannot be responsible for that which transpires beyond our boundaries.”
“As far as the reports that I have received can acknowledged, it is within the confines of Baiden that attacks upon our trading caravans transpired. I only ask that those ways be left clear and that there be some sort of impact upon attacking those that would travel through. Penalize them, and do not merely turn a blind eye as was done before.”
“The blind eye was only turned after you had already begun to stop adhering to the agreements on your side of the treaty--”
“King Rosenlied,” spoke Arric and immdiately there was a chill down the king’s spione. Once again, he was not Mercurius to Arric. He could not be. Not here, not now. “This is not time to place blame. No good will come of it. Please,” as he gestured towards him. “You must realize that he is speaking precicely what you would want to hear, that he desires all things that you do. The port be rebuilt and opened, and trade with the Ceredi and others with Liev.”
“You make the implication that I care for the Black Forest any more than I care for the mountains--”
“Mercurius,” came Zanil’s forceful voice from his side as the king was silenced. “This is not the time to focus upon our differences. This is the time to find the common round and move forth to peace. Still yourself.”
Tightly drawn were black brows as a heavy sigh came from him. It was true. His hands dug forth into the table before him and yet for a moment, he said nothing.
“I spoke out of kind. We will--grant this. Protection of Ceredi traders through Baidenese limits.” And at that, Arric did give a small smile in spite of himself.
Nerves were high. There was near visible tension when Zanil looked upon Mercurius, the king lingering by one of the mirrors. His eyes were focused upon the flickering of the flames that were within it, for it seemed as though they never went out. He was illuminated there, bedecked in the crimson cape of Baiden as well as the crown. It had not been upon his head since the day he had been wed and then it was only for a fleeting moment. But it was upon Zanil’s insistence that it had not only been brought along but placed upon his head for the time being. By all assumption, the king of the elves would be in similar state. Decked in the finest and looking every part what was expected of an elven king. And so Mercurius clad himself as the king of Baiden, silver crown upon his head. Yet his hair was still somewhat longer than would be expected, and his face carried with it a shadow he could not be rid of. His fingers lingered upon it until the moment when he glimpsed behind him the figure of Zanil, free of armor and with a brooch of silver and crimson crystal upon the cape that had been brought with him. They were a far cry now from the traveling party they had been as they journeyed northward, for elsewhere within the wing even Brayden was paying mind to the metaphoric p’s and q’s of the finery of Baiden. They had brought for him a crisp tunic to be worn beneath his armor which he had spent some time the night before cleaning as best he could.
“You certainly look the role of a king,” spoke Zanil as he managed a smile. Even upon him, one who could transcend all of this and one who was arguably the greatest creature to be involved in this fiasco, there was a weight. It was as though he was donned still in armor that weighed his entire frame, every inch of it. Yet to his king he gave a cant of his head (for a bow would be wholly out of character) as he knew within those eyes there was a mutual fright. A worry for his people. The precise reasoning of it was debatable as all the chips on the table were within the court of Baiden, by all means. But he supposed he still worried for the sake of peace. To not be remembered by any as a madman who claimed genocide as not only an option, but a viable one. That was not the truth. It was no option worth taking, no card worth laying upon the table. That had defended it for so long…
When he was met with silence, forward did he move, standing properly behind his ging. A few inches did exist between them, the outline of his hair of argent visible over the top of the dark hair of the Baidenese royalty. The cape attached to the ornamental armor that had been brought along with the crown, the armor worn to the councils of Liev--far less functional than the armor that was worn when he moved to the north, to battle. Only now that he knew the weight and truth of armor did he realize how false this felt, how ornamental it was. For show. Real armor was heavier. He had, of course, worn it before: for training. But there was more than just the physical weight of armor to be concerned over in battle. There was far more.
“I cannot cry,” spoke the voice of the king, unwavering. There was the command within it as there always was, the tone of his voice. Deep was his breath as he drew himself high. “We will have peace. There is nothing I have to fear.”
The words were allowed to linger in the air for a moment before his hands dropped from those shoulder pieces draped in black fabric, lined with red. “You have come far indeed, Mercurius. You have done things that no Baidenese king has done in the time that I have served them… partly as there has been no need, and partly because there has never quite been a Rosenlied like you, Mercurius. And for that I am glad. I could not stomach two Rosenlieds to be exactly alike.” It was an attempt at jest and he even gave a faint laugh, but the weight of the air crushed it in his throat. “Why is it you worry? What do you have to fear?”
“We will have peace, Zanil. Please rest assured that I am not afeared of losing this war, of losing my country. They do not have the power to do that. Not all the elves within the north could band together to manage that, and of that I am aware. I am not afraid for my people. I am not afraid as much as I am--uneasy.” This was when the eyes of the king tore away from the reflection in one of the many mirrors that helped create the illusion of a more open space. But after a few days, it could indeed wear on a person that was used to the sunlight. The natural circadian rhythm could be easily impacted by such things. Their stay under the mountains would be exceptionally brief and so there was the hope that it would primarily not be a concern to deal with. Indeed, the uneasiness could have been at least marginally impacted by the lack of sun. In truth, it may well be difficult to pin down the reason. Anxiety of the council may well have only been able to account for a portion of it… albeit, a sizeable portion, upon reflection.
“All will be well, Mercurius,” as the advisor held that gaze and managed even a faint smile to his king. “Come, let us…”
They were not alone in the hall soon after that brief moment together. It was Zanil who silenced himself as he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. Both sets of eyes turned in the direction as thought they were communicating an unknown worry that perhaps this was a set up, perhaps this was an assassin, perhaps--
But their fears were blessedly assuaged as it was only the figure of the other king, draped in silhouettes of blue and soft gold with a circlet resting upon his brow. It was not the most grandeur finery that he had but he had not necessarily opted to prepare for council and, in that moment, as the kings looked upon each other there was a clearness that they had claimed one another’s breath. Not since their first meeting, the first council in Liev when Arric was but a young man of nineteen, had they truly seen one another as kings. And in that moment Zanil smiled at both of them. There was a brief time yet that they would not be summoned to council and with a low nod of his head, the advisor did dismiss himself. The given excuse was that he was to go see to Brayden for he was the other that would tend to the council. As for the other knights who had served as escorts, they would remain outside as guards should there indeed be some sort of malicious play.
“Arric--” began the king of Baiden before a shake of blond silenced him and he canted his head ever so slightly to look at the shorter male.
“Council will be as council will be. I see in your eyes that you worry of it, but there is no point. Enjoy what time you have, Mercurius, before it must weigh heavy upon us.” Though he spoke such words, there was worry within his eyes when he looked at the Baidenese king. “Your nerves will ruin my resolution if you look at me so--”
Deep was the sigh as the darker king turned from those blue eyes that gazed at him, offering an exhale. “It may well be easier for you to think and act as such, Arric, seeing as your country is not directly involved…”
“All parts of Liev are directly involved, Mercurius. To say or think otherwise is in absolute folly for all parts of Liev are allied. We are friends. Their involvement in the war may well have been minimal but it has been upon every mind that knows of it. I am sure in Ludan and perhaps even Oran there was directly concern of it, seeing as their borders near the Silatin Mountains themselves. War could well have, and may well have seeing as communication on the frontlines nears upon impossible, approached their borders. To think any part of Liev is not involved is in err.
“The people of Baiden are my friends. My allies. The country is indeed disparate from Vaira in many ways but to even say I haven’t a concern for it is wholly wrong. I have many concerns of Baiden, both political and--personal. My involvement here is of my own free will and I could allow the weight of it to crush me. But Baiden is carved of hard, grey stone; Vaira is carved of smooth, white marble. In these moments, we must carry our homes with us. It is simply the way that it must be.”
This moment rendered Mercurius truthfully envious of the words that were spoken. Eloquent, in a way. There was a smile upon his face in spite of himself as he heard the words for this was the nearest to confidence that he had for the council in more time than he could recall. Even Zanil struggled to assuage any sort of anxiety within him and yet it was the words that swept beyond Baiden, the words that made Liev feel whole again. Maybe if the Grand War had ended differently…
Liev as a whole entity would have indeed made more sense in some aspects than Liev broken up into smaller countries. But he had not been there. He had not seen it. If there were any alive who knew Liev as it had been, it would be Zanil… and he seemed unwilling to discuss it. Things are better now than they were then, had been all that he had ever said on the matter. After that point, he was content enough to merely let it be as it was. There were volumes upon volumes by various writers and scholars of that particular era explaining as to why the fission of the country had been the best option and all the kings of the land had spent time reading over them, even though the archaic language could prove a challenge to those less scholarly at time. Such was often where advisors came in, after all.
“This is not merely for Baiden’s peace,” as the king of Vaira let his gaze drift, linger upon his own reflection. The angle of the mirror allowed both himself and the king to be seen as just the right angle that he happened to be standing in, “but for the peace of all of Liev.”
“And yet you and Zanil both urge me not to worry myself, not to fret,” as a dark eyebrow lifted slightly before he even went so far as to give a small chuckle. It did little to lift the weight of anxiety that was upon him, but it was likely the most jovial of motions that would come of him until after the council was over.
“Are you not the one that assured me that there would be peace? In this moment I would ask you listen to your own words, King Rosenlied. Peace is truly upon the horizon. And what do you have to fear? It will come by council or by force.”
“I fear the latter,” came the king’s voice, softer than normal. “I am weary of force.”
“Then we will have peace by council,” as a smaller, fairer hand reached forward to hold that one that had developed new, thick callouses in reaction to the war. “We need only have faith.”
“There is truly no option for us, Drunel,” as the king had spent much of the night sleepless upon his throne. “I have thought, and pondered, and reflected. There is nothing that we have that we can use to bargain with. Nothing. We are absolutely at their mercy and… and in truth, we have been. I do not want those of our people who have died to have died in vain and yet that is what I fear.”
Iowyr looked the role of a king. It was never a question of whether he would be able to look the part or not: he was truthfully the offspring of some of the greatest elven lines of the north. He did lean towards his father’s side in appearance, the side with a long history of ruling. Ellewyn’s side was noble indeed but there was a sheer regality that was passed down alongside the shimmering hair and bright eyes. As near to the elven ideal as a family could be, they were. Yet there were shadows beneath his eyes. Elves required significantly less sleep than humans did and yet a lack of it still wore heavily upon their physical bodies, and their minds. There was little sleep that had come to Iowyr nigh upon since his crowning and while he knew his father would not have lead to anything resembling a positive resolution to this war, at least it would not have been his to deal with.
While the king was clad all in fine woven cloth, the best of armor was upon the body of the the head knight. It was fine and untempered by battle, though it may well have been to weak for the truth of what transpired upon the battlefield. Much like the armor donned by the Baidenese king, this was more ornamental than it was functional.
“I know little of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn. Arguably, I know even less of Iolas. He was no brother of mine and I knew of him primarily through what I was told by Ionwhyn. And we… we both know he cannot be the most trusted source. May He forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, he who cannot defend himself.” The forgiveness was asked out of tradition, out of cultural mores… even if the statement happened to be true. Drunel would not have taken it back, even if he had been asked to. “And I can say that what he desired for the people, for us that live within the mountains, for the Ceredi or any other name that we are hailed by, may not have been too far off. He called for change and though he may not live to see it, change will be achieved. Never before has such a council transpired. Your father and mother, they spoke with Rosenlieds, but…” and he faltered. It was that which had lead to the birth of Iolas. But that was not what the king keyed his attention in on, knitting his brows as he looked to the knight.
“You speak of Iolas, how he has and how he was. What are you not reporting to me?”
Iowyr had heard little of Iolas since he heard Elfreda speaking to his father regarding the attack, when she had come to declare war. And seeing as war it indeed was, a likelihood existed that his singular sibling had been felled in one case or another. But if Drunel was aware of that and had not included it in his report…
“Not dead, Your Graceful Majesty,” as Drunel hurriedly amended the assumption: “but he is no longer in our hands. He is no longer in the lands of the people that did rear him, even if he was never revered truly as one of us.” There was almost sadness in the voice. It had been revealed over time to the knight that all he knew of Iowyr was assumptions and misinformations from a father that resented the mother that bore him, so who was to say much of what he knew of Iolas was not the same? “I fear he will not return, now. I fear yet that he does not want to.”
This caused fair brows to tighten over light eyes. “If he is in the hands of the enemy, then we can do naught but remember him with what fondness we are allowed.” It was not a voice that was of mourning, by necessity, so much as it was a statement of reason and of logic. It was the truth. Iolas would not return, and even if he had, what place was there for him in a society that he had nearly dismantled? That he had held within him the potential to destroy? Many people had died in a war that was seemingly pointless, for there was no gain on either side but pride. The first attack had been Iolas’s. The second strike had been Ionwhyn’s. And now there was Iowyr who no longer desired to strike but to have peace. That was all they had really wanted.
The war had brought about change, but at great cost.
“They will arrive soon,” spoke the knight as though he desired to redirect the thought. It could have been perhaps argued that Iolas deserved a place at this council. But he had no means by which to truly hold anything resembling sway: already some of those that had followed him with some semblance of loyalty had forsaken him in his absence, coming returning and attempting to make amends. There was some blame upon them for what had happened. Some weight upon their shoulders of the dead, of those who had gone to defend the Ceredi against the threat of the Baidenese. But in a way, it would have happened. Be it due to Iolas’s actions or any other final nail in the metaphoric coffin, the tension between human and elf in the northern part of the continent of Liev would have boiled over. Another generation could not have taken the tensions.
Slender hands rose for a moment and upon the head of fair hair was the crown readjusted, and forth came a sigh of slight weariness. “I will be relieved when all of this has come to an end,” spoke the king with his head tilted down low. “I will be relieved when we have a solution. He seems to favor that it will be for the best, but even should it be for the worst…”
In the front door did one of the guards step, a fisted hand upon his left breast beneath his collarbone. “Your graceful majesty,” as he came to kneel before the king, his eyes downcast. “The representatives of Baiden have arrived. Shall we have them wait?”
“I almost wish Iolas was here, “ as the king spoke his last words in confidence to his knight and he rose. “He should have a part in this, as it was his doing.
“Bring them in. Let the first grand council of Man and Elf begin.”
Vaira’s climate was by all means fairly temperate. Traveling north when there was snow upon the ground came as something of a shock to the system of the king who was quite firmly bundled in travelling cloak and thick woolen garb alike. Drunel rode proud once they were expedited from the compounds of Baiden, the cloak removed from his head though not removed from his body completely. While he was more adapted to the chill of the north, the prior generation of elves having come directly from the northlands where snow was year-round in some parts of the continent that was occupied by elf and man alike, when one ventured further north--and into the mountains, he was not wholly invincible to the cold. The only stop they had made as of yet was a brief detour off what Arric assumed was the path, being as he could not see it beyond the accumulated white snow, to allow Drunel to add his armor to his repertoire. After all, should they be attacked, he would need it.
The horses provided for the northward journey were not the sleek ones that were ridden for pleasure nor were they even the war horses granted to the units that traveled northward. These animals granted to the royal party were of fine stock and more fit to tread through snow--nearer to the draft horse that had once been one of Zanil’s many loves than they were to the horses of Vaira and Ludan with their long legs and swift speeds. While this meant their pace was slower, there was a heartiness to the horses that lent itself to at least an illusion of comfort in their travels.
“Do you think,” inquired the Vairan prince as he cut his eyes towards Zanil, given that it was nearest to him that he found himself lingering, “that we will come upon a town to stay the night at? I’ve a feeling the response will likely not be the one that I was hoping for, and yet…” those eyes upon him nearly answered the question in a way that made him draw about his body the cloak before the response was even spoken to him.
“There are few to no towns that lie in our pathway as we travel north. I’m sure Davin would have informed you of such.” It was less of an inquiry and more of a statement: logically, one of the healers would have informed him of such things. Far be it from Zanil to know the exact predicament of who had spoken to who, of who had told what to the king. It hardly mattered, now, for they were all on the same page. At least, presumably. “Before winter set, it was possibly an easier trek. But only just,” as he continued, turning his gaze back towards Mercurius. There was a number of knights that had served to escort them as well for a unit of five would hardly make it north without some sort of skirmish, some major lost. Five men could be wiped out by a well placed snowstorm when it came down to it. “Do you regret volunteering your expertise as a negotiator now, Arric?” There was a part of it that was in jest and yet a part of it that was factual when it came to the inquiry. “It is not yet too far for you to turn back. A knight could escort--”
“No!” interjected the king, loud enough that it merited the other king’s attention to shift to him. The horses continued moving forward as though guided by invisible hands, even when the attention of the Baidenese ruler was not upon the road that was cloaked by white. A cough and the young king was mindful to speak in a tone that was more reasonable, one that was conversational between himself and the advisor who rode nearest him. “I have no intention of going back on my word. It would not reflect well upon Vaira, nor would it respect well upon me. Pride is not as strong amongst the Lander family as it is among the Rosenlieds, perhaps, but I will not be remembered as such… as one that would go back upon his word.”
That was when the voice rose above, though his eyes were fixed forward again. It was Mercurius’s voice, almost finding a cadence with the footfalls of the animal he was astride. “I would not have conceded to such a thing, regardless,” came a command. It was not one that gave way for discuss or debate: quite frankly, the king had stated that Arric was now among them and so he would ride north with them even as the cold bit at his nose. One would assume as the day did advance that the warmth would be greater, but Arric found that not to be the case. He was not complaining outwardly… at least, not in an audible way. The constant shivering and shifting may have been the only external communications, and only to one that gazed upon him.
“This may well be a long journey for you, Arric. I do hope you can stay warm.”
Far be it from Tahvaen to be one to complain. He did not want to be remembered as the whiney one, or the one that simply could not hold himself, and yet when it came down to it even the streets of Vaira during the winter were not this chill. The country was allocated more south and near the coast and upon the rare occasional that snow came, it did not accumulate. Dusting inches of snow off the top of the impromptu lean-to of a tent that he and Brenner shared still (for it was rather common in the camp, now) had not been his ideal potential start to the morning. Nor was his sharp vision being blinded immediately by the shine of the morning sun upon snow. Still he and Brenner shared the sleeping pattern of being awake primarily at night so part of him was genuinely surprised he had not been awoken sooner, given the shine of the sun that did temporarily blind him.
Then he was aware of the fact that Brenner did not lie beside him, something discovered by idle, aimless groping on the warm spot where he had lay. A low groan came from him and such was enough to summon from his wanderings the one-eyed captain who stood now above him, looking down in the direction of the fiery-haired half-elf.
“So you have awakened at last,” came the voice of the knight with a smile upon his lips. Though it was near frigidly cold, Tahvaen managed a smile in response as he pushed up. The hand that reached down to grab his and help him to his feet was far warmer than the earth that the body had occupied before. The thick blanket was drawn tighter around the lithe form as he came to lean against the broader knight. Sleeping in any sort of undress had been an action long forgotten by the time the healers arrived in the north and, with a single glance about camp as evidence, he was able to discern the fact that he was indeed not the only one that was not appreciative of this snowy weather. Flurries did come to Vaira city from time to time, but not often enough for the people to be as adept to it as the Baidenese were.
The singular response from Tahvaen was a grunt until Brenner pulled away and walked a few strides, the chilled Vairan in tow. Why they had to get up and move around so quickly in such cold was a mystery to him, but he supposed there was something important that merited his attention. Not that it had been asked for insofar as it was freely given.
“A number of knights sent from the east arrived around sunrise,” recanted the knight as they maneuvered towards where somehow, some way there had been enough wood spared from the snow to merit a fire, “and they carry news of my brother… unfortunately.” Since they had departed on that day some time ago now, he had heard little of Brayden. From the tone in his voice, Tahvaen was able to discern this was not by necessity happy news.
“Not dead?” inquired the Vairan, at least hopeful. And this merited a slight sigh in response which, for a moment, raised his concern.
“No, not dead,” spoke the voice once more and Tahvaen exhaled the breath he was unaware that he was holding, “but captured.”
This time he stilled his feet and when Brenner noticed, so did his. Over his shoulder he cast a glance with the remaining eye, a jerk of his head prompting his red-haired compatriot to fall again in step. The blanket had not yet been shed from him, serving now as an impromptu cloak.
“Based on their report, the units that remained under his control are following Elfreda now and… and the other captain that was in their party is dead as well.” Those that had been dispatched to the east had taken heavier losses than his units had and though he did desire to feel some sort of happiness, he did not. Only concern and sadness for there was hardly any way to tally up all those that had died to inform their families. Not even he had such a luxury. “Brayden willingly laid down arms and went northward to save his men. Since then, they have not heard a word…”
“Right. And he’s been up there how long?”
The grim expression and momentarily stilled feet nearly caused the taller male to gracelessly walk into the back of the knight, but he avoided it--though just barely. “The report was unclear. But by the way it sounded… no less than a month, and no word has come back.”
He could have made a million inquiries, but out of respect the red-haired elf did remain mute as he walked alongside the quiet captain. There was not a question in all his mind that he was even able to amuse the thought had not already crossed the mind of the knight. So he allowed them silence until he came to sit by the fire. Even then the blanket was not shed and it remained about him until one of the familiar Vairan faces offered him a bowl of soup. The meat in it was some bird shot and killed likely that very day, and it was tender and had great flavor… but he was more pleased just by holding the warm bowl in his gloved hands.
“Brenner,” he inquired as he let his eyes moved to the single remaining eye of the captain. It was near glossed over, affixed in a direction that looked at nothing. He spoke still. “This cold will kill us if we allow it. I worry for our people--”
“We have done our best to prepare for the winter. Our people will be well enough,” as his attention was upon the Vairan half-elf, “and I ask that you have at least some faith in my preparations. If anyone knows how to survive a northern winter, it is those that live in the north.”
Red brows knit over blue eyes though Tahvaen let his focus remain upon the food in lieu of Brenner for the time being. Bickering would cause them nothing but bad feelings and he was not quite one to entertain such things. “I have trusted you thus far. I see no reason why we should not now.”
When there were few people in any given location, it was known that they would talk. And talk they did. Soon enough the majority of the elven capital (or what was presumed to be the capital, given that it was where the king did dwell with the majority of his people; the existence of other cities could indeed nearly be left up to debate, as none had seen them) seemed to be aware that a council was upon the horizon. Though, truthfully, it was the prisoners who last caught word of the presence of Baiden within the confines of their captivity. Word came through overhearing the speech of the guards down the way, caught by perked ears both of Thrandir and the wolves held still in captivity. None spoke of it until the elves were out of earshot and then it was the remnant of a departed god that did address the statement.
“Maybe there is indeed an end in sight. I can’t say it was the one that I would have anticipated…”
“Judging from the fact you had this ludicrous notion that you would manage to play all sides of the field and ever avoid the crossfire, I would say that probably is not a surprise.” What communication had transpired between the werewolf of far northern origins and the one who walked as a plains elf had very much been along those lines. Northmen were known for their stalwart loyalty as we wolves, and the combination of the two existed within Hagon to the highest degree. Such had been a factor into why Gideon had (mayhap even subconsciously) seen to it that he was grooming the blonde to become an alpha. “And possibly, even, for the better.”
“Mock my means as much as you will, O White Wolf,” as such had been a mocking nickname given to the blonde for Thrandir could only imagine he to be a wolf as fair as his hair, “but you cannot deny that the role I have played has been crucial to all sides, can you?”
Audible was the huff that came from the wolf and no response came from him, the dark-skinned elf taking the moment to offer a grin of triumph. Insofar as they was concerned, this was something of a victory in their court, though it may not go down in the records as such. And yet Emirain, wary of further animosity boiling between the two, did offer a low growl before her own interjection: “There’s no point in talking of any of this like it is the past. The council has not happened yet and the outcome we cannot predict, so speaking of anyone’s role may be in error. I would not advise it.” Such were the only words that the wolf had to say before her own silence came to her, attention dropping down from where she had lifted her gaze when Thrandir spoke. “We can hope only for the best and prepare for the worst.”
“The worst is that we will all be beheaded as prisoners of war, or something along those lines,” added the dark-haired one presumed to be an elf, “and I am not quite sure how best to prepare for that, personally.”
“Show respect,” said the voice that had so often since he had found himself barricaded here. “Emirain is not someone to be talked down to.”
“I do not ask for respect where it has not been earned, Hagon. Do not demand it upon my behalf.” Thrandir thought it a bit beyond him to chuckle at the statement, but there was a smile upon that dark face still. The jilted blond said nothing and saw to removing himself to the back of his cell. It was not quite sulking, but he was not pleased to have been reprimanded so. But perhaps he had overstepped his boundaries, so an apology came forth from the back of his current prison cell.
“Hope for the best,” came Gideon’s voice, adding to the conversation finally and after much presumed debate, “and prepare for the worst. That means coming to amends with the gods that we may soon find ourselves face to face with.”
“Soon, huh,” came Thrandir’s voice, “let’s hope not.”
The inside of the mountain was thankfully much warmer than the outside. Arric was able to shed some of the layers that were twined about him after the multi-day ride. They were still comparably few in number but those that met them were fewer indeed. Though it was known the Baidenese company numbered near fifteen, there were only five that approached them as they crossed through the entryway to the mountainous city. Drunel and Brayden had been within these walls before and even Zanil himself knew the insides at least briefly prior to the point at which he had begun to fully serve the Rosenlieds. He was, after all, by all accounts and purposes no human. That he spent time among elves came as no surprise.
Iowyr was not in the party that waited at the gates, and this was no surprise to anyone. An offense, maybe. It was Liev’s tradition that when a king or queen came to visit the capital city of another country that the king or queen would be the one to greet them upon arrival. Delegates, it seemed, were enough for the elves. And in all rightfulness, they could hardly expect that the elves to the north would adhere to their traditions.
Drunel, of course, defected immediately to be among those that were his kin. There were enough of Baidenese forces that they could have prevented this, restrained him, or held him captive. But they did not. In part it was an act of spite to lay a dichotomy with the way he had treated Brayden within the halls of the Baiden castles, but in part it was because they knew the elves would be in greater number. Or, rather, they had assumed it. A dark brow arched as now the elves numbered at eleven, with their captain once more among their ranks. The light from outside shone behind them for only a moment before the heavy internal gates were closed. It was a two-layer system, for the gates, with an outer grate being closed during the summer to allow the warmth and air to circulate more readily. But when the severe winters set in in the north, as they did, the internal gates were shut firmly to preserve the warmth of the fires that they lived by. The skylights on the outlying tunnels were often blockaded in similar ways--they served no purpose as the mountain began to be blanketed by snow.
There were no prisoners taken, there was nothing that would cause any sort of alarm. For a tunnel it was surprisingly bright, with the mirrors established in a way that did gleam reflections of the flickering torches while giving a similar feel to that of windows. One could almost forget they were in a mountain in lieu of a Baidenese castle, with the strength of the walls about them. But, Mercurius had to muse, a collapse of a hallway would be less deadly and disturbing than the collapse of one of these tunnels.
“If you would follow me,” as Drunel moved to head their company, the other elves--assumed to be knights, judging by their armor that was not dissimilar to the captain’s, “we will see to finding you lodgings. The council will convene tomorrow.”
“The king has stated,” spoke one of the knights, slightly shorter than the captain, who fell in line by Mercurius, “that he will not speak with you until tomorrow, at the council.”
